


House of Gold

by Daytondreamer



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Consumation, F/M, Growing Up Too Fast, Kids, Mutual Pining, Point of view shift, Smut, Wedding, a change in season 1, i made them a little older simply for my own comfort, maybe a little plot but it's mostly smut fam, more tags to be added later possibly, or book one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-23
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2018-11-03 23:50:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 43,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10977966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daytondreamer/pseuds/Daytondreamer
Summary: Ned politics for his life in king's landing and quickly seals the fates of Robb and Myrcella before Cersei can go against King Robert’s last written will.





	1. Chapter 1

She escapes her wedding feast by thinking back.

Back in the recesses of her mind to when her father lay dying after his ill fated hunting trip. The guards only let her through to see him when he was already pumped full with milk of the poppy. He didn't recognize that she was there crying in front of him. He didn't hear her say goodbye.

That memory faded into another. Her mother, Cersei Lannister in all her beauty and fury ranted and raved about King Robert's will to have Lord Eddard hold regency until Joffrey comes of age. Myrcella could remember how angry tears slid down her mother's face when she gave her the news that she'd be the wife of Lord Eddard's heir by his command.

It all happened through a daze. The loss of her father, being packed in a carriage rolling back north. It was one unhappy memory to the next until now. At this very moment seated in a place of great honor, Myrcella feels hollow. Before her men and women alike drink and dance and smile. She wishes she could be one of them.

Beside her is her husband. He loathes her. He loathes her whole family. She remembers the stories of him fighting with Joff in the courtyard and his mother taking Uncle Tyrion prisoner.

Myrcella searches the hall for her uncle, he and Lady Stark made it in time. Myrcella was grateful to have at least one Lannister with her for this day. Uncle Renly was here as well. He mingled with these strangers like he’d known them all his life. A beautiful skill.

The hour grew late and the wine in Myrcella's cup ran low. She completed two full glasses, it was all her stomach allowed. It is an awful drink that is unpleasant on her throat. Uncle Renly told her it would help stop her nerves but her hands were still in her lap relentlessly twisting a cloth napkin until it was tearing.

Why did she have to be married so soon. She wanted to cry again. She wanted to wake from this nightmare.

Holding her breath she dared look to her husband again. He sat unimpressed. His eyes darting over the room. Even he is too young to marry, Myrcella thought. He may be acting lord in place of his father, but he still looks like a boy and Myrcella certainly knows she looks like a girl.

She's as boney as a fawn, but she's flowered. That was the reasoning she heard all the adults say was why it was okay for her to be wed off and bedded.

Bedded, she thought angrily. She did not want that, she did not want a baby yet. Caring for Tommen was enough for Myrcella to know she wasn't ready to be the mother she wanted to be.

Fear left her body shaking. She wanted girlhood to last forever. Then she thought of Tommen and Joffrey back in King's Landing. She would most likely see them at Joff and Sansa's wedding and then again at Tommen and Arya's. After that, then who knows. She doubts her husband will allow her to visit. Perhaps she could trick him into wanting to see his father.

Startlingly, he looks warily to her and myrcella feels herself shrink. This was the second time he's truly looked at her. The first was just before their wedding kiss. Myrcella's first kiss.

"If you're tired Princess, you are free to retire."

Myrcella stares speechless. Is this a cruel trick? She swallows and tries to gain courage. "Without you, my Lord?" She says too timidly and regrets saying anything at all.

"I will join shortly." He mentions with sadness in his voice.

Myrcella then feels the tears she had let slip. Quickly she takes her leave, hiding her face. Her ladies in waiting are at her heels and ushering her to her Lord husband's chambers. There was no bedding ceremony, but as tradition old as time she will still be forced to consummate.

One unhappy memory after the next, she cries to herself with eyes clamped shut. Her ladies removed her simple wedding dress, Myrcella mourns its warmth as soon as it leaves her.

Her hair is let down like a golden waterfall against her back and the sweetness of lavender oil is dabbed on the pulses of her neck and wrists.

She feels bare so she clings to herself. Slim arms curled in over each other, goosebumps rise over her body. The only heat she feels are the tears pooling in her eyes.

A light, white chemise is thrown over her head. "Good luck, Princess." Is whispered against her forehead and accompanied with a kiss before Myrcella is left alone in this strange dark room and all she can feel is cold.

Myrcella does put on a good and honest effort to wipe her cheeks clean of tears, but they keep falling. She cannot stop them and she knows her husband will be displeased with her. Displeased with her attitude, her body, her family name...

Again, she wonders why must she marry now? She is a girl of fifteen, she has much to learn about what it takes to be a wife. She cannot even sew straight stitches!

The door opens and Myrcella knuckles away fresh fallen tears and bows, too afraid to see the disappointment in her husband's eyes.

"My lord," her knees are shaky and she sniffles. She must be the perfect picture of a fool. Cersei was right to stay back with Tommen and Joffrey. Myrcella has not even an ounce of her mother's strength.

"Princess," his voice is still a stranger’s to her ears. She knows she should rise now, but her legs buckle when she hears the door close. It wasn't a startling noise, but to her it was a loud bang and she jumped at it.

When the pour of wine hits her ears she stands, his back is to her as he fills his cup at the small table beside the door. Perhaps Uncle Renly's advice was right, wine helps... at least she hoped it was, Lord Eddard's heir has had more than his fill tonight.

She stood frozen and watching, not knowing what to do. She hardly knew what was to be expected of her or what her husband had wanted her to do. She would just have to wait and be told, she feared.

"Forgive me, my lady." His voice echoed through the room as he turned and Myrcella was met with deep blue eyes. "Would you like a drink as well?"

Her stomach wretched at the offer. Myrcella shook her head to decline. "No thank you, my lord."

"You look chilled." His eyes hint at the bed when he takes his next drink. Myrcella obeys and retreats to the the back and climbs into the bed.

She pulls the furs up to her chin and watches from the corner of her eye as he strips himself. She looks away when he gets to the laces of his breeches, unable to continue. She hopes he does her a courtesy and leaves his smallclothes on.

She realizes she's made the mistake of naming him a boy at dinner. He is a monolith as he lets himself under the bed furs and hovers dauntingly over her.

Myrcella makes herself look up at him. His eyes were kind and his face handsome, even up close. It is a small comfort to think that perhaps he does not despise her.

But even that thought does not stop her body from buckling when she feels one of his legs between hers. She has never been in such close quarters with anyone else, it is strange.

"May I kiss you?"

Myrcella wonders why he asks, he is already over her, ready to put a child in her.

She nods and prepares, closing her eyes and pressing her lips together. Soon they are met with her Lord Husband's and it is just like their first, with the exception that she can feel nearly every inch of him pressed over her. She is relieved to know he is not completely bare.

A hand grabs the side of her neck and Myrcella jolts with fear, nearly crying out from the unexpected touch. She is so skittish she could burst.

Her husband's thumb runs small circles at the hinge of her jaw. "Relax," he says softly, calmly. And then Myrcella sees the smallest hint of a smirk tug at the corner of his mouth. "You need to relax your lips."

She would if she could, her nerves would not allow it. He tilts her head up and she frowns not knowing what to do. She could not even be a limp ragdoll for him, she was stiff and on the cusp of crying again.

"Here," he says and the pad of his thumb smoothes over her bottom lip, pulling it from her teeth. "Slightly parted, like that."

He doesn't sound like a lord at all when he does this, he sounds like a friend and Myrcella thinks he has the same gift as Uncle Renly.

But he never said a word to her at their feast, only what was required of him. More than ever she is confused. When she arrived at Winterfell she was rushed inside for a bath and sleep so she was ready for her wedding the next day. There was no time to get to speak to him, but plenty of time to imagine what sort of monster he was.

He kisses her again and it is the strangest of them all. She tries to take his advice and parts her lips. It is a much warmer, much more intimate kiss she discovers. She can taste him.

It was the same sweet flavored wine she had with her dinner. It is not so unpleasant in smaller doses.

Lord Stark breaks the kiss and there is a shine on his lips. "You're afraid."

Yes, how else is she supposed to be? How could any girl do this without fear or their stomach tied up in knots. "I will carry you a child, my lord. A boy if the gods are merciful." She whimpers the statement out like a coward. Even Tommen would be able to see through her.

Lord Stark's face fell. She tried not to disappoint him. "I don't think I am able." He sighs and rolls off to the side. They are both staring at the ceiling and Myrcella feels dead inside.

It is her duty as a wife to please her husband and she cannot do it. It is a woman's duty, she thinks, and she is still just a girl.

She turns away on her side and lets tears fall silently.

"I-it is not your fault, my lady." The bed moves and she feel ls a hand wrap around her arm. "It is the circumstance."

She doesn't know if he can see but she nods, piercing her lower lip with her teeth to keep from sobbing. At home she would be considered a prize. Here she is the cold queen's daughter. A brat from the royal family. The niece of the treacherous imp...

"Princess Myrcella..."

For the first time in her life she curses the gods and makes herself turn, her red watery eyes on display for her husband to see. For her husband to judge and chastise her for being weak and foolish and too young. Her limbs were slim and her joints knobby. She could pass as a girl of twelve... she had not grown like her ladies in waiting have. Her chest was small and her hips narrow... she is not what a man pictures when he thinks of his bride...

Her husband's face lights up in horror when he sees her. "Princess... why are you crying?"

A simple question that only makes her tears fall faster. "I cannot be a mother," she quivers. "I cannot make you happy and that is my only job to do and I want to go home... I want my father to be alive and I want things to be as they were, my lord."

She is ashamed of her out pour, but she cannot take it back now. It is a painful wait until he speaks again.

"Well, there is no rush for children. Truth be told I don't wish to be a father just yet."

Then why were they here? "So I may go to my own chambers tonight, my Lord?"

He looked pained. "We must finalize our wedding in this bed... And we must do it. The other lords are already miffed that I refused a bedding ceremony."

"Why did you?" She asked without thinking.

"You are a girl... ah, well. I hoped we could go about this more naturally. So you would not be so scared but your pupils are as thin as pins. I guess there was no right way to do this."

"I'm not so scared now," Myrcella said. "I like it when you talk to me." The kindness was not just in his eyes, now it was in his smile.

"Well, that is a start. A slow start but that is fine."

"Why did we not start this at dinner?"

"Hm, that's a good question. I guess I can admit to you in private that I was nervous. I still am nervous. I have to prove a lot to the northern lords. They don't think I can hear them, but I do when they mumble about what a green boy I am. I cannot look soft or weak in their eyes."

"I wouldn't mind a soft and weak husband."

He chuckled, "you don't mean that, my lady. You deserve someone strong. Someone who can get you through winter. What is a man if he cannot be brave when the time comes."

It hadn't sunk in that this was her home now. She now lived on the frontlines of snow and storms. Sunny garden walks would be of her old life. "I don't know anything about winter." And winter is not what troubles her at the moment. She remembers when she first saw Robb Stark, the first time she came to Winterfell with her family. At the feast she thought he was handsome and some Lord had called her an insipid girl. The heir to Winterfell was to marry a woman of the north not some frill from the south.

"Are you happy with this betrothal?" She can't help herself, she must know what he thinks of her.

"My father sees us a fit match."

But are they? "And you? Do you see it fit?"

"I never imagined taking a wife so soon and so sudden... I haven't even any time to go to the rookery and send a letter to my brother at the wall. He will be just as shocked as I was when I got word from my father..." he looks at her suddenly, "this is none of your fault-- like I said before it is the circumstance..."

"It is unusual, yes? For for this to happen so sudden?"

A crease formed in his brow. "Perhaps... have you-- I know you are an honorable lady, but have you had," he took a breath, "any other experiences with another? Sorry, it is a crude question and any answer is okay, I won't be angry, I just would like to know..."

Myrcella frowned. "The only boys I see are my brothers. I hold Tommen's hand and sometimes we share a bed but it is not like this... I have had my personal space to myself all my life, my lord."

"Of course, princess...ah, you do not mind that we are so close? I mean, you are not so afraid of me?"

"I'm afraid it cannot be helped for tonight, my lord." She chewed her lip in shame. No amount of talking would ease her completely.

"Aye, I see." His hand ghosts over her middle beneath the furs and Myrcella looks to him slightly startled. "Is this okay?" His touch is feather light until she nods, then she feels the whole of his palm on her. "This is a time to be brave, princess. Be brave, you can tell me things, you know. You should never hesitate to tell me when I am doing something you don't like."

"My lord?"

"I want you to enjoy it," he says quietly and a blush creeps into his cheeks. "I can't if you do not, Princess."

Myrcella swallows, feeling pressured. She had always thought if she just laid there the man will take care of all this himself... he would just.. take her and be done with it. Perhaps that would not be such a bad thing, to hurry and get it over with. Then the marriage would be finalized and she would know what to expect for next time.

"It is fine, my lord." She's able to twist her lips into a smile. "I would like for us to make our union official." Before dawn breaks it will be done, she hopes.

Her husband nods and his hand slides down to her hip as he leans over to kiss her. She remembers to relax and enjoys the wine on his lips once more. She tries to slow her shallowing breath when he is twisting over her again. One hand pressing into her hip the other supporting his weight.

He pulls away slightly, his eyes staring into her very soul as she feels his hand lower to her bare thigh and then pulls, spreading her legs so he may lay better above her. "You know I am not going to hurt you?" He says quietly. "You know that is not my intent."

"I know." She nods meekly and he notices her hands fisting in the sheets below.

"You can touch me," he takes her wrist and lays it over his stubbled cheek. "I would– it would be nice if you did... but if you don't wish to I don't mind that either."

Myrcella considers this. But once his hand leaves her to decide she withers it back down to her chest. "Later, my lord." Later when she is not so nervous and he is not so foreign. "I am content with what you're doing." She blushes madly when she says it and is relieved when he doesn't pay her unseemly words much mind.

He just nods and leans in until she can feel his breath tickle her neck. He kisses her there, beneath her jaw where her pulse races.

"You smell good, Princess." Myrcella realizes he must smell the lavender oil. She turns into the mess of auburn curls beside her. He smells of forest, like the godswood they were wed in.

His hands wander down and up into her night shift. Bare calloused fingers roam up, up until they are able to cup her small breasts.

Myrcella swallows the bundle of nerves caught in her throat. She has never been touched like this, her flesh has never been... kneaded.

His face is still buried in the crook of her neck. "My lady?" He mumbles into her skin.

"Yes," she assures. This is fine, she does not want to cry. She only feels strange and breathless. Her heart would not settle, it was like she was racing down the beach at Blackwater.

His lips return to hers and she gasps when his hips begin to move between her legs. They both still have their smallclothes on but it is a shocking sensation. "My lord," her voice wavers and she grabs his bicep to keep grounded.

Theee is a distinct feeling of his hand is trailing between her legs and she wiggles under him. "It is supposed to be intense," he breaths and slides her small clothes to the side. He kisses her cheek. "You are doing perfect, my lady."

"Okay," she nods frantically. All she can do is trust him. And she does when his fingers slide against her. Her nails dig into his bicep and her head presses back hard into the feather bed. It is supposed to be intense, she chants in her head when soon the chants become a thoughtless need and a strangled cry erupts from her throat.

Her husband kisses her softly on her nose and she huffing beneath him like a horse. "Good girl, all we have to do now is that all over again."

She nods, vision still blurry but she squeezes his arm. "I can do that," she says and a quiet easy laughter fills her ears. A laughter she decides she likes.

"It might be a little different, I must warn. A bit more intimate and a bit more intense."

"Impossible, my lord." She sighs, "my heart is about to burst through my chest."

"Do you wish for a moment?"

She shakes her dizzying head, letting the fog of her mind take control.

He bends her legs at the knees and spreads them wide. She doesn't look but she doesn't let his arm go either when she feels his other one unlacing his smallclothes.

He kisses her forehead and then the next moment he is thrust inside her. Myrcella cants her hips, unable to adjust to his size.

He grunts and holds her still, "Mmmcella stop-- stop moving, sweet girl."

She tries, tries to still the panic in her body and the fullness she feels. "Help me--" she sputters patheticly, but she's not sure what kind of help she needs.

"I've got you," his hand is cradling her head while the other is still pinning her hips down. "You are not hurting, are you?"

"I– I feel–" she cannot say that all she feels is him and that it is all overwhelming. Instead she flushes and a cry escapes. "Please,"

He has her secure in his arms and begins to move in a controlled gentle pace against her. Her legs have a mind of their own when they tighten around him, but he doesn’t mind. “Myrcella,” he pants her name as devout as a prayer to the Seven And her breath catches hearing it. He said it like he needed her.

“Robb,” she moans sharing his passion, she claws the muscles shifting on his back because she needs to hold something to keep from losing reality.

She feels it, his seed sliding over her belly instead of inside her. She is still huffing lungfuls of air when she feels his warmth leave her and then a wet cloth is draped over her to clean it up.

She doesn't have to move a muscle, her lord husband dries her and returns her night shift back over her body, and she is glad for she hasn't the energy to do any of it herself.

  
She twists into the furs and there is an ache between her legs, but it is not painful.

Lord Stark soon joins her again and neither speak but the silence is peaceful, not terrifying like she may have once imagined it would be and it lulls her to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

“Does it feel any different? I intend to marry soon as well. A girl from the Reach and I only hope I can still carry on as normal once it’s done.”

Renly Baratheon could talk the ear off a brick wall.

He dressed in extravagant clothes, a hardly worn leather jerkin with golden stags embroidered on the chest. It was not just Renly’s clothes that had Robb’s attention but also his choice of breakfast.

The young lord brought baskets of fruits with him from the south, Renly particularly enjoyed peaches. He had requested a bowl filled with them for the meeting. Robb tried one earlier and it was the juiciest fruit he thinks he’s ever tasted. It is not the type of thing that grows in the north, it is not hearty enough to endure summer snows.

“It is different.” Robb says thinking to earlier that morning. He had woken up with a girl in his bed and that alone threw his day off. He watched her for a quiet moment with her face soft and at peace. He prays she will be just as calm when she wakes.

Renly took another bite from his peach. “There,” he held out a locket to Robb. There was a portrait of a young girl with a heart shaped face and brown hair inside of it. “They say she looks like Lyanna Stark, what do you say?”

“She looks beautiful.” If she looked like Lyanna Robb wouldn’t know. The portrait certainly did not look like her statue in the crypt. Robb closed and returned the locket.

They were waiting for his mother, Ser Rodrick, and maester Luwin to begin the meeting. It was not like any of them to be late. Renly's voice turned soft as he tucked the locket back in his front pocket. “How was Myrcella this morning? She is well?”

“As well as I’ve ever seen her be. She was asleep when I left her.” Asleep and happy in dreamland. Robb felt ill thinking of her and how sweet she looked… so sickenly sweet and he is a monster for marrying her. A foul excuse for a man, yet he could not deny the marriage. _Marriage_ , he thought bitterly, it was more of a ceremonial hostage taking.

“She may be a bastard but she really is a sweet girl. You are doing a great service for the realm. Joffrey would rip all seven kingdoms apart if he got planted on that throne with his mother whispering in his ear, the image makes me shudder.”

“All I’ve done is bought my father time. In four years Joffrey will become of age. What then?” Robb didn’t care for Renly’s breezy attitude. He acted as if lives weren't at stake and that what they were doing was not terrible.

The young lord gave a noncommittal shrug of his shoulders. “We have several paths of action. You’ve freed us so we have time to figure this out. I know your father is going to try and rehabilitate the kid, but I know Joffrey. The boy is not right. It would be a waste to try and raise him proper.”

If it were possible, Robb’s face turned more sour. Sansa was still betrothed to this brat. “House Lannister is tied to my house--”

“Ahh–” Renly held up a finger, “It is house Baratheon.”

“Right,” Robb’s jaw clenched. “Our houses are bound forever, why does Sansa need to marry Joffrey and Arya to Tommen?”

“To reign in a mother’s madness. Cersei is only controlled by her children. Your father has them in his grasp and she can do nothing as of now to change their fates. As long as he has them, And we have Myrcella, he is safe from her insanity.” Renly took another casual bite of his peach. “How do you feel being married to a bastard? Your bloodline is impeccable, Stark and Tully, two of the most honorable houses in Westeros. Now you have a bastard for a wife.”

Robb couldn’t believe Renly was speaking about Myrcella this way. She wasn’t his true niece, but he did express a fondness he had for her. “My half brother is as noble and honorable as any man. It is not that she is a bastard that bothers me so much as the fact that she is all Lannister. She is kind though. I do find myself caring for her.”

“As you should, Stark.” Renly grins and leans back in his chair. “She is as innocent as they come. It is both a horror and a miracle that she comes from Cersei and Jaime.”

Robb knew she was innocent, it was clear last night she had not even kissed another… “She knew something was wrong about our marriage…” Robb confesses. “Last night she kept saying that we were being wed off too soon, and I couldn't tell her the truth of why that was.”

He didn't like lying to her. She was meant to be his wife. Not meant anymore, she is his wife. He will have to see her pretty face everyday and lie straight to it.

“Lying is a small price to pay, Robb.” Renly put some sympathy in his voice. His arm draped over Robb’s shoulders as if to console when he leans in. “Your father’s life was in jeopardy. It still is, but we have the upper hand now. We can send the Lannister’s packing to Casterly Rock. They were too ambitious for their own good, but now their time is over.”

“And you want Joffrey to continue the Baratheon name? That is wrong. My father knows that is wrong.” Robb didn’t understand why his father was trying to make a false secession work.

“Yes he does, Stannis and I are the last two Baratheons. Until we have a safe plan for either of us to take the throne we will just have to pretend Joffrey is legitimate. But it is only a matter of time, my friend.”

“King Robert has bastards in the world yet. Sixteen of them, there has to be a fair amount of boys in that group. Only one needs to be legitimized.”

“None have been properly prepped for the job. It is Stannis or I that will be best for the realm, don't you think?”

Robb nodded but only to get Renly to shut up. He fancies himself a king, it is easy to see he is already campaigning for himself. He has found a wife and he did network himself extensively with the northern lord's last night.

“How soon will Myrcella be with child?” Renly chuckled. “Has anyone asked you that yet?”

“No.” Robb said gruffly. “We are in no rush,” Robb pauses. His marriage is not his own doing, why would having a child be? “We are in no rush?” He questions Renly, who has more knowledge of this southern game. More than anything Robb wishes he could speak to his father about all of this, but Renly will have to do.

“Don’t worry, Stark. I don’t think that is needed right now. Go on and live your life. You don’t have to touch the girl until you are ready for fatherhood.which I can see in your eyes, you hope won't be for a long time.”

“Well– yes. I wouldn't like to trouble her with a child either. She is so small… It was hard for me just to be over her last night. I was afraid I might break her.”

Renly cocked his head to the side. Something piquing his interest and Robb wishes he never confided in Renly.

“Will you sleep with her again?” Renly asks quietly even though they were alone in the solar.

“I will eventually,” Robb feels the air in the room thicken and he doesn't like it.

“Was it the first time you've been with a woman?”

The question was of poor taste and Robb frowned hearing it. What business of Renly Baratheon’s was it? “No.” Came Robb’s brisk reply.

Renly leaned back in his chair without a care. “The meeting has not begun, Stark. It is fine to lighten up. Your father is a grim man, I would hope you would not turn out the same.”

Well, Robb did hope and pray he would be the same. His father is what he’s aspired to be since he was born. “I take that as a slight on my house, Lord Renly.”

“Not my intention, Robb. You are the last person I’d want to pick a fight with.” Renly’s smile never falters. “We are on the same team. I am the bridge between you and our good Hand, Lord Eddard.”

Robb nods because that is what he wants. He wants to be included so he will not blind sided again. No more surprise weddings… “Good.” He tells Renly just as the door opens with the rest of his audience. His mother leads in and the meeting begins.

***

She is sitting at his desk when he returns. She has a bit of stitching in her lap and stands to bow when he opens the door.

“Princess,” he wants her to stop doing all of this. Calling him lord and bowing, it is unnecessary. Especially in private.

“My lord,” she rises from her curtsy. She's dressed in a fitted over coat and Robb remembers his chambers are the coldest in Winterfell. It also lacks a fireplace.

“I could escort you to the library tower, it is warmer there. Or if you prefer, your Uncle Renly is making a trip to the rookery. When his business is done you could spend the day with him, a familiar southern face.”

She shakes her head. “I think I will stay in here for the day. I do not mind.”

Robb thought that odd. “I don’t even spend a lot of time in here, my lady. It is not a fun room, it’s bare bones, really,” Robb said inspecting his chambers with new eyes. It was as basic a room could be. A bed, a desk, and small entry table for food or wine.

When he was a boy most nights were spent in Bran’s chambers. They all slept together, him, Jon, Bran, and Rickon, or rather they barely slept. They played and talked to each other until exhaustion took hold. Robb never regretted feeling tired the next morning, because now those times are over and all he has are those memories…

“Are you well, my lord?”

Myrcella’s eyes are a bright green question mark as she looks at him. “Yes,” he says quickly. “Forgive me, my mind was elsewhere.”

Her eyes quickly dart away from his. “There is nothing to forgive.”

Oh _yes_ , there is _plenty_ to forgive, if only she knew… “Myrcella, are you hungry? Renly has brought peaches and other little sweet fruits from King’s Landing.”

She bites her lip and even with her face cast downward he knows she wants to take the offer. “No,” her lips contradict. “I am comfortable in here, my Lord.”

Now Robb stands confused. “Would you like me to stay and… sit with you then?”

“Oh no, my lord. You must be too busy for that.” Her hands are twisting in the cloth she was stitching and her eyes still fail to meet with his. He can’t leave her like this, worrying herself for no reason.

“You are allowed to be comfortable, princess. Tell me the truth, what do you want?” To Robb’s horror she wipes a tear from her cheek. Had he said it too sternly? He was only eager to know what held her back. “Myrcella, I will not be angry with you. I could never be angry at a girl so sweet.”

“I am not sweet,” she cries. “I wish to be alone because I cannot look at you, my lord.” She's weeping now but Robb keeps his feet planted to the ground. “I am sorry– you are kind and polite, but I cannot–” she sounded strangled as she spoke. “I have never– last night– no one has ever seen me like I was last night and I am mortified this morning to think back on how I acted.”  
  
Robb was completely lost. “You were perfect last night. Honestly, I think it went rather well all things considered.” It could've been much worse. She could have kicked and screamed and spat the word rapist at him the whole night. Now Robb understands… just because she did not do those things doesn't mean she did not want to.

“Myrcella…” he was about to apologize when she spoke up again.

“It was just not how I was told it would be and it really surprised me.” She was glowing red, beyond embarrassed when she shouldn't be. “I will be more in control of myself next time… I’m sorry, my Lord.

“Gods no,” Robb reached for her and swore she flushed even more. “Myrcella, no one is in control when– I mean, you shouldn't feel in control if it's happening right… you just,” he shrugged, “react the way you react. It is nothing to be ashamed about. I wasn’t exactly the picture of steady control either. It is just how it goes.”

They were strangers to each other, so it is understandable that she feels embarrassed for how close they had to have gotten. She also holds formalities close to her heart, it must've been scary to have those walls of security crash around her and then have to think about it the next morning. Reliving it, in a sense.

“The next time will be when we want to, okay? When we are both comfortable.” He attempts to soothe. Careful not to overstep any boundaries.

“When we love each other?” She sounds meek and small and vulnerable and Robb hates himself. He hates that he cannot protect her from her own parentage and he hates even more that he cannot tell her the truth of it and their marriage.

All he can do is pretend to be a gallant knight, like all the ones in the songs little girls like.

“Yes, when we love each other.” The words were sweet to her ears but all Robb could taste was bitter torment.

He leaves her and goes to the kitchens to have a bowl of fruit taken up to her and arranges for separate chambers. There was no question that her new quarters will have a fireplace.


	3. Chapter 3

She knows she is truly and utterly drunk when she stands. Her legs stumble and the room spins, a deadly combination for one’s composure.

Lord Robb has her by the shoulders. She hears him laughing and bidding her uncles goodbye as he escorts her out of the dining hall.

Most nights she dines with little Bran and Rickon, but tonight she ate by her husband’s side and ended staying up until the late hours of the night. She even sat on his lap once the castle went to sleep and all who remained were people Myrcella knew and felt comfortable around.

They walk down Winterfell's corridors in refreshing silence until she feels his lips at the crown of her golden head. “You had a good time, princess?”

It was warming when she truly thinks that she did. It was a lovely three course dinner and Myrcella enjoyed the company of her uncles. They were a raunchy pair. She listened in on tales of scandal and laughed out loud for what felt like the first time in ages. It really was the only time she let herself loosen up.

She had also drank something that was stronger than wine. Her Uncle Tyrion had brought it, a bottle of _Imp’s Delight_ he called it and they all drank it.

Robb’s arm is linked with hers as they walk and she feels the firmness of his muscle through his jerkin. She wraps her other hand around his bicep and curls into him.

“I will take that as a yes.” He is drunk too, but he hides it better, Myrcella conspires. He may be bigger than her, but he drank twice as much.

They come to a fork. One way and she is off to her own chambers, the other is off to his. Myrcella tightens her grip. “My lord,” she says quietly but still she reddens, or she is already too red from drinking. Either way Robb doesn't notice.

“My lady?”

Her fingers dig nervously into his jerkin and she bites her lip. “May I accompany you tonight?” She is somewhat prideful when she says it. She wants to be with him and she should not be shy to say that, should she? It is not a crime to like your own husband, she's grown to understand.

Plus her night has been so great, she wants it to last forever.

He looks at her with purposeful blue eyes staring at her. “Of course,” he says and Myrcella releases a quiet bubble of laughter. She does not feel like she's walking, but that she is floating with him into his room.

After he closes the door he takes her hand and spins her into a mock dance. When she is spun in back toward him, he curls his arms around her and pulls her back until she is against the wall and he is there in front of her to hold her.

He's so close she feels her breath shake. “You are beautiful,” his finger twirls within a lock of her hair. She doesn't know why, but she presses back restlessly into the wall behind her.

It must be her nerves, but it's an exhilarating flutter in her chest rather than crippling fear.

Robb’s eyes are half lidded and dark, but they are still able to stun her. He is so close she can see that the blood has rushed to his cheeks, his ears, his nose, and his lips. His lips, especially.

He is beautiful too. In a way that a man can be beautiful. His jaw is square cut and she can always feel the hard muscle beneath his clothes when they touch.

She is happy that he is her husband, so happy that she takes his jaw in hand and brings him down so she can kiss him.

“My lord,” she sighs against him, “I love you,”

“You have been here a fortnight, sweet girl.” He is even closer if that is possible, Myrcella can feel herself being pushed in both directions. Robb’s body successfully pinning her to the wall. “You do not love me,”

“I do–”

“No, you want me, that is what it is Myrcella. You are just drunk enough to express it.” He is mouthing her neck and she feels a twist in her stomach.

“Oh,” her eyes close and her head lolls back, she never wants him to stop.

“I want you too,” his voice rumbles.

“Oh,” she's says again more urgently as Robb pins his thumbs into her hips and kicks her legs apart. She cannot help but be pliant in his grasp.

His forehead finds hers. “Princess?”

“Hmm?” She asks with eyes still closed.

“May I kiss you?”

She nods against him without hesitation and cannot stop the grin forming on her lips. “Please, my lord.”

He is sweet like honey and Myrcella parts her mouth for more of him. “My lord,” she fancies him again and his grip is firm on her hips as he tastes her. His teeth nipping her bottom lip.

She likes it more than a normal kiss and another sudden twist jabs her stomach. Her thighs move together but Robb stops them from meeting. She writhes in frustration and gasps when she is flipped around so fast it takes her a moment to realize what happened.

His body presses along her back and his mouth at her ear. “Myrcella,” she feels the strings of her bodice fall away and her skirts flutter to the floor. Her husband reaches to the front of her and his hand cups boldly between her legs.

Myrcella cries feeling the friction through her small clothes and her hands make a smacking sound against the wall when her knees buckle. She leans helplessly into the cool stone.

When she thinks she can't take it anymore she feels Robb at her backside, his hips grinding against her and her eyes squeeze shut from the intensity. She feels his hardness through his breeches just as she feels his hand between her legs.

She wants to collapse, she wants to be on the bed, but it is too late. Lighting lashes through her and she cries into the stone wall of Robb’s chambers.

She feels sweat drip from her hairline and her chest heaves for air. The climax had taken all she had, but Robb was still holding her, his lips still brushing the delicate skin of her neck.

And then she feels exactly how she wants him. How she wants him to couple with her. “Robb,” her throat is hoarse but he is there, leaning over her shoulder and kissing her cheek and whispering how perfect she is.

He lets her turn herself over and they share a deep lasting kiss, one that takes her breath away and makes her wish that she didn't need air. “I love you, I love your taste your smell your touch, everything about you, Robb Stark.” She gushes.

His nose bumps against hers, “love is a strong word, Princess.”

“I have strong feelings for you, my lord.”

“It is lust,” he shushes her gently. “Lust and alcohol. A heady combination, yes?”

She nods and kisses him once more, her hand bracing on his firm chest. “But I care for you.”

“I care for you as well, Myrcella, but love… love is for later… when we are older.”

Myrcella lets it go, she does not care to fight for love with someone who ignores it like he does. In her heart she knows what it is.

Her hands slide up to his face, he is so warm and he can't help but smile when she refuses to let him go. “You are wild when you drink.”

“I am my father’s daughter,” she blurts carelessly.

Robb’s smile dies and he takes her wrists and pulls them away. “You are Myrcella, and that is all…”

“I am Myrcella Stark, Lady of Winterfell.” She announces proudly. She does not say that out loud often enough. It is still strange on her lips. She is Myrcella Stark.

Robb’s gaze softens and he is not so serious anymore. “Careful, my mother is still here. You are my sweet lady until you are grown enough to accept the responsibilities of being the Lady of Winterfell.”

“Of course.” She would rather be Robb's than Winterfell’s anyway. She is just beginning to learn just how rewarding it is to serve her Lord husband. “May we lay now?” She tries to be as discreet as possible, but she is still thrumming with butterflies and could care less what she sounds like.

In one swift swoop, he lifts her in his arms and carries her across the room. Myrcella giggles and bites his ear. When they are at the bed she squeezes her legs around him extra tight as if it were a hug of gratitude before he plops her down on top of his bed furs.

Her hand brushes against something warm and then something wet and cold hits her cheek.

Myrcella sits up and scampers to her knees. There is a giant wolf with big yellow eyes lying next her.

Grey Wind she knows it's name to be but she has never been so close to it.

“Sorry, I was not expecting the night to end up like this. Had I known his ass would've been outside.”

“It is fine,” Myrcella doesn't take her eyes off of the beast. “He sleeps with you?”

“Yes, but you are more welcome to my bed than he is.” Grey Wind huffs and hops off of the bed.

Myrcella looks up to her husband, “would he hate me if I took his spot?”

“No, he might even like you more.”

“Hm,” the wolf is now lounging on the floor and Myrcella feels as though they could be a little happy family of three in their little room. “Then I think I may move in here full time… if you will allow it, my lord.”

“Nothing would make me happier.” Myrcella squeals as Robb grabs her ankles and yanks her body toward the edge of the bed where he stands and it is harmony when she hears his laugh joined with her own.

In no time he settles comfortably over her and Myrcella is daunted all over again by his broad shoulders. It reminds her of the night of their wedding and the nerves she felt then.

But she is not the same as she was back then, now she knows what type of man her husband is. That he is every bit good as he is handsome and she trusts him.

Her hands guide themselves to his waist and he stills at the slight touch. His whole body is rigid over her and it is hard not to feel some sort of satisfaction.

When her fingers curl over the waistline of his breeches Robb releases a sound she cannot describe. “Myrcella, you want to do this?”

“I want you,” she repeats what he had said earlier, because now she knows exactly what he meant. Her fingers splay over the hardness straining in his breeches and jumps when he growls and snatches her wrist.

“Myrcella…” he warns weakly and startles when a knock beats steadily at his door.

“Robb,” it is the sound of her Uncle Renly and Myrcella’s stomach drops. She clamors to get under the furs while Robb stands stunned for a moment. “There has been a rider in the night.”

The door opens and Myrcella wants to be invisible, but Renly’s eyes say they know it all when they flicker to Robb and then Myrcella cowering under the furs.

Robb straightens, “who?”

They have all sobered by now, Renly looks stern when he answers. “A bastard.”

Robb looks down wearily to her. Renly continues. “Your father has sent him here.”

“I will be out in a minute.”

“Quickly, Stark.” Renly warns before leaving and as he does Myrcella could see Theon peering inside before the door is shut.

“What is happening?” Myrcella asks while Robb throws on a cloak and Grey Wind stands by his side, ready to leave.

“Just some business I am dealing with for my father.”

“It isn't dangerous is it?”

“No, my lady.” Robb is twice as big when he wears his cloak and he is as broad as a castle wall when he leans down to kiss her forehead. “I will return shortly.” He promises before Myrcella is left alone.

The night had begun with laughter and silliness and she had gotten caught up in it all that she forgot Robb was the reigning Lord of Winterfell. Just because he had a break tonight doesn't mean surprises could not arise.

She turns and hums into her pillow, waiting for her Lord husband to return.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just two kids in lust-- or love, or whatever this is

Myrcella’s dress is thoroughly soiled by the end of her ride. Every other day she goes outside the gates of Winterfell for a ride with her Uncle Tyrion and Bran. It was always so special seeing Bran hoot and holler as he races on his little yearling.

Uncle Tyrion based the design of Bran’s saddle on his own. They were both excellent riders, better than Myrcella but she liked going out with them nonetheless. There was not much else to do if she was frank with herself. Robb and Theon were busy all of the days and most of the nights.

Myrcella and Robb retired and woke at different hours, he was even having private dinners in his solar. They always meet to break fast for the day and then he was gone again until the next day. If Myrcella was lucky she could catch him brooding with Grey Wind in the godswood, but most times it was just her and the faces on the trees.

Her handmaidens had drawn a decadent bath with rose oils and after her muddied dress collapsed from her body to the floor, one slow foot at a time, she slinked into the steaming water. She let herself soak and the heat melted her bones in the best way. She sighed aloud into the room as every bit of chill left her toes, her fingers, and when she dunked further, her cheeks and ears. Everything was engulfed aside from her nose and eyes.

She watched her hair float over the water and played with the golden strands with how they were weightless in the bath and flowed with the currents she created with her hands.

There was a soft press on the top of her head. “Princess.” She heard a muffled voice and surfaced immediately. The water spilled and splashed as she rose and crossed her arms over her chest as gracefully as she could think to in the moment.

“My lord,” she reddens and for an eternity it feels like all she can hear is the drips of water trickling from her hair and skin.

“I had to at least say hello,” he smiles and Myrcella has no idea how long he has been in the room. He has papers in his hands.

She doesn't want her shock to give the wrong impression. “I'm glad you did. Had I expected you I would've been in a more proper state.” She wishes she could stand and greet him, instead she is frozen in the tub with her arms glued over herself.

He smirks and drenches her with a heavy gaze that lingers too long. “I don't mind this state and I really do wish to stay, but I've a meeting.” His voice is light and contrasts the darkness in his eyes.

Myrcella nods and does not release her breath until he innocently kisses the tip of her nose in farewell and leaves.

For the remainder of her bath she scrubs her skin raw and nourishes it with rose oil. Her hair receives the same treatment and her handmaidens come to free it of tangles. Marla sparkles as she talks about how noble Theon Greyjoy looks when he effortlessly shoot his bow in the courtyard.

Myrcella likes hearing these little things, it makes her feel less lonely. If it were not for her ladies, her uncles, and Bran she thinks she'd spend all day with a bit of sewing in her lap. She'd go mad if that were the case.

She is much more open here than she'd ever been in King’s Landing. She even speaks to the master of horse and the blacksmith and his new apprentice on occasion. It is a wonder how much Gendry looks like her Uncle Renly. Twins, she swears they could be, but their personalities are Day and night. Gendry could care less about what he wears or pleasing people with charming smiles, he just hammers at an anvil all day.

  
Eventually Myrcella is dressed in a cream shift and Marla’s sparkle dies while the room falls quiet. “Sleep well, princess.” She kisses and leaves with the rest of Myrcella’s handmaidens.

Now alone until she wakes for the morning, Myrcella sighs and begins to blow out the candles before finally crawling into bed and snuggling with the furs, reveling in the warm comfort she feels before softly drifting away in sweet dreams.

Dreams of home and the hot rains that pour there instead of summer snows. There is never a night that passes that she doesn't dream of home and her family. Sometimes it's her mother beating her in a game of cyvasse or her septa begrudgingly taking her through the cellars of the red Keep to see the dragon skulls because she's tired of hearing Myrcella begging to go.

But mostly, she dreams of Tommen and how he eagerly awaits a new litter of kittens or trips over himself on blackwater’s beach when he sees a particularly beautiful seashell.

The bed dents as if Tommen has snuck into her room and wants to hear the story of Lann the clever for the thousandth time, but his little hand doesn't come to shake Myrcella's shoulder.

Her stomach drops when it is not the tiny hand she would expect, but a large, rough one with fingers splayed over her hip. Myrcella’s eyes spring open. She is not dreaming.

Air thickens in her chest as she lays frozen, waiting.

This is not how her nights go. She never even realizes he's there, she's always fast asleep by the time he retires.

She wonders if he does this every night and she sleeps through it until his thumb follows the curve of her bottom and she knows she wouldn't have. She's a fairly light sleeper and that would've woken her.

His hand follows down until he meets the back of her thigh and his fingers wrap around, grabbing the inside of her leg. Myrcella turns her head into her pillow and squeezes her thighs together.  
  
“Myrcella,” his voice is thick and heady and just as hot as his touch.

Her chest heaves and her breath is harsh against her pillow, but she stays still, hoping he will not stop.

He's not touched her like this since that drunken night neither of them ever brought up. It was almost like it hadn't happened, but now all the memories are flooding back. Fingers slipping between her legs and making her gasp for air.

“You're wet,” he groans and damp lips are pressing against the nape of her neck.

Myrcella turns away from her pillow and strains to look over her shoulder. He meets her lips immediately and she cries feeling his hand press more urgently between her legs.

Then the next second, like a cruel game, he is gone from her. Her eyes are still hazily opening from the kiss when she feels him turn her then lift her as if she weighed nothing to straddle his lap.

Myrcella looks down at him wildly and then jumps feeling the strain in his small clothes brush against her.

“You're so beautiful, Myrcella,” he says as he drags long strands of golden hair back behind her shoulder. “I want to see you,”

Myrcella bites her lip and nods, though she is not certain of his meaning, but she wants to kiss him so she does.

Tentatively, her hands take either side of his face and she likes the scrape of stubble against her fingers.

His hands skirt up her thighs and into her slip to cup her breasts and it is slightly too rough and painful. A sharp breath hisses from her teeth but he bites her lower lips so she cannot go too far. “I'll be gentler, sweet girl.” He promises and his hands are instantly less grabby and more smooth against her skin and the sensation melts her back to him.

His lips become impossible to kiss as they stretch into a smile. Myrcella takes a deep breath and presses her forehead to his, her body shaking. She is unable to smile, she can only close her eyes and pray her heart won't burst out of her chest.

“Robb, I can't breath,” she babbles softly, the pounding in her chest seems louder than her voice but he is able to hear.

His hands slide down to her hips and hold her steady. “Deep breaths, my lady.” He murmurs and presses a kiss at her neck. “You’re breathing too fast, you’ll be light headed if you don't stop.”

She already is and holds tight to his shoulders to try and calm down. She almost wishes it was like their wedding night, him over her, he knew just what to do. Now she feels awkward and self conscious and there is no false courage from alcohol that she can fall back on.

Robb’s grip slides back to the ample flesh of her bottom and her teeth scrape hard on her bottom lip when he squeezes. “Seven, help me,” he pants, “Myrcella, gods, you're so perfect and I want you so bad.” He curses and begs and she doesn't know what to do. “I want to have my way with you and that’s not right, it's not right but sometimes I feel like I don't care, but then I do. I care a lot about you and how you feel.”

These declarations could not have come at a worse time, Myrcella thinks. She can't focus on a single word he says for more than a second. Finally frustrated enough, her hand trails down and splays against the hardness in his breeches.

“Myrcella, I want to have you.”

She swallows hard and gasps, “yes,”

A breath whooshes out of her body as she is flipped over on her back once again, the force and swiftness of it put her in mild shock. She feels tugs and pulls until she is free of her small clothes and her legs are hooked over his shoulders somehow.

It's like molten steel is being drenched over her when Robb’s eyes stare down at her, watching her as his guides himself in.

Myrcella’s mouth opens wider, pants harder, but she does not dare break from his stare. It burns so sweetly, his eyes on her, and she moans feeling the fit of him thrust harder and harder against her.

She tries to match the intensity of him, but she simply cannot. She's not near as strong nor as experienced as he is. Myrcella throws her head back, or the fist in her golden hair throws it back, either way she cries. Cries helplessly as she's being thrown over the edge. Her eyes clamp shut so hard she sees white.

He's collapses over her so heavily that when she breathes her chest meets his and it is so deeply and oddly satisfying she wants to stay there forever. His mouth finds hers and it is the sloppiest kiss she's ever had, but she still thinks it’s one of the best they’ve shared yet.

“I love you,” she hums against him because she must exclaim something. She still thrums and feels so much. “I love you so much I cannot believe how perfect our match was. I couldn't have a better husband even if I was the one to choose.”

Robb is still breathing so hard it takes him a minute to respond. “Sweet girl, the only thing perfect here is you, you're just so easy to love and your body–” Robb pauses a moment and panic flickers in his bright eyes. “I've spent inside of you–”

Myrcella adamantly shakes her head. “Please my lord, it’s fine.” She didn't even know what time it was. Will she have to prepare for the day soon or is it still early in the night? Myrcella wasn't even sure she could go on with her day like normal if it was morning. “Robb, will you stay? Please, stay with me.” She's never asked such a request before and the moment she does she feels foolish and childish.

A breath of laughter comes from his chest as he rolls off to the side, he leaves his arm strung over her stomach. “I will for a while. I promise.”

It was so wonderful, it felt like she was being spoiled. Robb never stopped running his fingers in small circles across her skin. If she wasn't before, now with certainty she could say she was addicted to him and the comfort he gave her in the cold north.

“Now’s the time for sleep, sweet girl.” He murmured into her hair.

She wanted sleep, yet she didn't. “Will you be gone when I wake?”

“Most likely, princess.”

“But why?”

“Because you're a heavy sleeper.”

“No I'm not.”

“As someone who mostly sees you when you sleep, trust me, you definitely are.”

“Fine,” Myrcella relents. “You would know better, but I’ll have you know that when I lived in King’s Landing I was the lightest sleeper. Perhaps it was the heat.”

“Perhaps… well, if you want I could wake you up before I go?”

Myrcella smiles warmly, even though she doubts Robb can see it. “I would like that very much.”

“Alright then,” he smooths a hand down the gold waves of her hair. “See you in the morning, wife.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter, for some reason, went a little beyond what I was comfortable with but in the end I think it's alright? If it's too much or too gratuitous just let me know.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When you kill your first man it does not mean you become one yourself.

He created a monster. Or a goddess.

Or both.

Whenever he entered a room his eyes sought for her. Even in the crowded dining hall he couldn't help but throw his gaze over to where she held pleasant conversation with Bran. With Robb’s own little brother, and still he looked upon her with heavy eyes.

She's wearing a dress he quite likes on her, though everything she puts on suits her. Her body is perfect like the rest of her and Robb leers at her every chance he gets. It feels almost painful to have to tear his eyes from the exposed skin of her neck.

A flash of guilt runs through him as it always does. He's a wolf preying on a lion. Perhaps he is the monster. A monster who cannot help himself.

She looks exuberant, Robb bites his lip watching her hair bounce and shine bright gold amongst the candle light. She smiles at something Bran has said as she so often does, and follows up with an opinion of her own that Robb cannot hear from across the room.

With Bran she is free to be childish and carefree. It is nice to look at her, to see her be who she really is.

Just a girl.

Bastard born princess from King’s Landing was too unkind a title. She is just a girl. A sweet, beautiful girl.

A girl Robb wants to take to their chambers and treat like a woman.

It was these thoughts that had his eyes falling closed for a moment to regain composure. He is not an animal, he is an heir playing Lord.

“If things get any worse we may have to cut off her hair and send it to cersei, we must remind her that we hold what is most dear to her.”

Robb grimaces. “She's my wife, Renly. You won't touch a hair on her head.”

Renly puts on a sickeningly charming smile. “Would you rather we send fingers, then?”

The idea was enough for Robb to push his plate of food back. “No. My father wouldn't condone such an act.”

“We aren't playing a northern game, but a southern one. Your father is on a quick learning curve as should you be.” Renly says matter of factly before he takes a sip of ale.

“You're not touching Myrcella,” Robb says to make it final. She's innocent in all of this.

Renly shakes his head. “No, the Lannister’s are too proud to let one of their own be defaced. But Cersei must be dealt the threat or else Sansa may need to marry Joffrey to ensnare another one of her children.”

“No.” Robb says again. “Sansa won't marry that irredeemable brat. I'll go to the capital myself and take both her and Arya back before that happens. I made this sacrifice for them too.” Robb could almost laugh.

_Sacrifice_ , as if he had married a white walker or a wildling or some other awful savage.

Renly did humor himself with a chuckle. “Right, well I hope it doesn't come to that. Your father seems to be losing grip though, I fear. We don't want anything happening to good old Ned.”

“If anything befalls my father, we march.”

“Common knowledge!” Renly gestures with another charming smile. “The last thing anyone wants is Northmen in King’s Landing and war. No one will harm your father, but if he starts making claims outwardly to the public before we are ready that could make for some mess. I received word that Stannis has come out from hiding from Dragonstone… I hope he doesn't drive Lord Eddard into anything too hasty.”

“Aye,” Robb nods absentmindedly as he spies Myrcella licking a bit of spilled honey from her finger.

“Perhaps you should be more discreet, my lord.”

And perhaps Renly should learn to keep his mouth shut. “She's my wife. I can look at her if I want.” Robb bites out, annoyed that he must be plagued with responsibilities.

“You dine with your men so they won't be commanded by a stranger… you will remain a stranger if all you do is stare at Myrcella’s pretty lips.”

“The Glover’s and the Umber’s know me. Yesterday I took the lord’s and their sons hunting, today I let them sit in on council, tomorrow I'll ride with them to the gift, and then fight alongside them to defend the north. Forgive me if I take some time at the end of my day to–”

“Watch Myrcella eat dessert?”

“Yes,” Robb growls. It was silly and he knew it, but he'd be damned if there was a better sight than seeing Myrcella suck on her pudding covered thumb and forefinger.

“It is not a crime to lust after your wife.” Renly chuckles and that angers Robb.

He meets with the Storm Lord’s brown eyes. “Don't laugh.”

“At what? Your feeble attempt to hide what is going on behind those glass eyes of yours? You're transparent, Robb. It is quite amusing whether you like it or not. In all things, it is amusing, but more so when it comes to you and your… avid appreciation for Myrcella.”

“I hardly see her–”

“Stop with your excuses, you see her every night, for gods sake, you touch her every night.”

Robb mulls that statement over before he decides to comment on it. “I actually put up a good effort not to…”

Renly sets down his mug, his lips held tight to retain his own laughter and Robb regrets saying anything. “I don't understand Starks.” Is all he says when Robb had expected more ridicule.

“I try to keep in mind the circumstance of our marriage and how old she is. She looks so much happier now, with Bran, than she ever has with me. She is always so serious with me, calling me Lord, Lord husband…”

“She respects you.”

“She's stiff around me.”

“I imagine you're stiff around her as well.” Renly allows himself to laugh at that one. Annoyingly, Robb feels himself redden. “I don't know why you make yourself endure sexual frustration when you absolutely don't have to. Do you enjoy pain? Just fulfill your needs and be done with it.”

“I've tried that… but all it makes me want is her. More of her. She's so timid–” Robb couldn't believe he was admitting such private relations… but he couldn't stop either. “I am struggling to find a comfortable routine with her.” That's what it all simmers down to in the end. He doesn't know how to act around her, he doesn't know what to tell her or what to keep from her. All he knows is that he desires her and he shouldn't, not when she is in the position she is in.

“I'm her captor. She doesn't know it, but I am and when she finds that out she won't want to share a bed with me. She will want to attack me, kill me, she’ll want to leave me.”

The mirth in Renly’s eyes softens away as he leans in, his voice now less boisterous. “She very much adores you, Stark. When you are the topic of our conversations she has never said a bad thing.”

“Why would she? I lie to her so she'd think I'm a perfect person… I lie to her pretty face and pretend just like I pretend to know what I’m doing. Being Lord is not easy. I have no time to be a husband or a brother or a son. I'm Lord Robb all of the time it seems and I’m losing my mind, Renly.”

“You need to calm down or you'll lose more than your mind.”

“I will not ‘calm down’ people depend on me, my father depends on me.”

“You're no good to anyone if you snap. You’re telling me this because you need advice, right.”

Robb was spilling his guts out on the table for Renly because if he didn't now he would later, to Myrcella.

Robb feels a hand slid up from his back and hook tightly onto his shoulder. “Your desires are harmless, believe me, you can't let them add to your worries. It should be more of a release for you. Something to look forward to at the end of a long day. Don't weary yourself battling this losing war with yourself.”

Robb takes a deep breath and looks over to Myrcella. She's finished her dessert and is dismissing herself from the table. “She’ll be coming over shortly.” Robb says quietly. “She’ll ask for permission to retire, I will grant it and she will be off to bed.”

“You might as well leave with her. I don't see you conversing with any northern lord's even after she's gone.”

A small smile appears on Robb’s lips. “She’ll think that odd. We don't retire together, not often anyway.”

Renly rolls his eyes, he thinks this to be frivolous. He's from the capital where courting and wooing is ingrained into him. Renly is smooth and easy to talk with at any time, Robb is rough, curt, and clumsy when it comes to hiding things…

“My Lord,” Myrcella announces and when Robb turns to regard her she bows. “The dinner tonight was exquisite. The imports from Highgarden make a welcome addition to the northern menu.”

“Aye, everyone seems a bit happier for it. All gratitude goes to Renly.” Robb admits and Renly tilts his head in acknowledgment.

“I think I may leave for the night, as glorious as everything was it must come to an end eventually.”

“Go on, Myrcella. I will join you shortly.” Robb says as a helpless decision.

She bows and exits with grace, and most notably, alone. Her ladies in waiting were still dining and chattering about.

Robb raises an inquisitive brow at that and finishes his drink before dismissing himself and walks through the too quiet halls of Winterfell. He tries to control his pace but in the end he is brisk and eager and a predator needing it’s prey.

When he unceremoniously enters, Myrcella is caught with her hands blindly reaching for something on the back of her head. When the door closes she snaps up from her vanity and quickly gives a shallow bow. “My Lord I didn't expect you so soon, forgive me-- my appearance.”

It was all nonsense. Apologizing for looking-- what exactly? She remains perfect as always. Robb has seen her with her hair half pinned up and he's seen her with it all down, the inbetween stage is no less beautiful. Her hair is still a lustrous gold and smells of lavender. “Turn,” he says and she does so. The pin she was searching for was the last one, easily Robb plucks it out and released her hair down into it’s natural, relaxed waves. “there,” he says gently and places the pin on her vanity.

“Thank you,” she murmurs softly to the ground, cheeks tinged red.

Her lashes rest heavily on the tops of her cheeks and the image is so sweet. Robb swallows.

He grabs the chair to her vanity and sits with Myrcella standing right before him. He takes her hands into his own to coax her eyes open.

Soon enough, Robb is staring up into deep, soft green eyes. His gaze never leaves her as his hands release her to drag down her skirts, feeling the smooth shape of her body through the fabric.

She blinks rapidly. “My lord,”

Robb doesn't know what to say so he doesn't say anything at all. He pulls up the hem of her dress, wrapping a hand around each of her legs. Feeling the texture of her stockings until he meets the tight garter belts tied on the tops of her thighs. He plays with the bands and watches her closely.

Her eyes break away and close, her hands come down and clamp on his shoulders. He is sure her heart rate rises just as his does.

The feel of her soft thighs, the hitch in her breath, Robb was prepared to get on his knees and worship her like any devout man in a sept.

One hand slides to her inner thigh. “I'm sorry,” he whispers so quietly he doesn't think she hears. He brushes between her legs, astonished he didn't have to work more than he did to feel her arousal.

Her body leans in harder, “Myrcella–” he starts but she cuts him off.

“I don't want you to leave tomorrow.” He wishes he could see her face, but she is completely nuzzled into the crook of his neck and she kneels down on the chair, straddling over him and Robb is quick to hold her close.

“I'll be back,” he consoles. “It will take only a fortnight and you'll have my mother and brothers.”

Her sweet lips press against his neck in the form of a kiss. “You promise you'll be back. I don't care how long it takes, so long as you do come back.”

Robb sighs hearing the sorrow in her voice, a moment ago all he wanted was to slip between her legs and now he's rubbing her back praying that she won't cry. “Nobody is going to let me die, I promise you.”

“You've never fought before.”

“I've fought, I haven't killed, but the north is being invaded by wildlings. Poor farmers’ lands are being raided and their families murdered and eaten. It's important that I be there, and Jon will be there. I haven't seen my brother since he left for the wall.” Robb gently laces his fingers in her golden tresses and pulls up so she cannot hide her face from him anymore. She is still flushed and panicked.

“I wish I could come with so I can see you everyday and know that you are safe.” She cares too much for him. Robb knows these affections are placed on some imaginary version of himself he's created for her.

A crossroad approaches. Robb can take what he wants. Fulfill the need that has been growing within himself, or he could leave her be. Leave her and her attachments instead of fueling them.

But the decision has been made for him. Robb tosses his head back until it is stopped by way of the chair. An unexpected movement caresses the hardness straining beneath his breeches. Robb tightens the hand in her hair into a fist. “‘Cella--” he hisses, but this is no accident. She is canting her hips against his on purpose and she doesn't not stop.

When their eyes met he sees the burning glaze of passion that must be a mirror of his own.

The small and intentional rock of her hips drove Robb’s need for more. It was always like this with her, he'd always want more too fast and it would be over until he somehow, awkwardly bedded her again and then the cycle would continue. Now, the only thing different is she is initiating the movement and he wants to wait to see what else she does, but he is not strong enough.

He is impatient and tired of waiting so he ruffles through her skirts and slides a hand into her small clothes. It's instant, as soon as he's there she's arching into his hand and threading her fingers into his leather doublet.

Her breath breaks into a harsh and shallow rhythm and her mouth parts too prettily for it to be ignored. Robb leans up and thoroughly kisses her. She's sweet and wet and perfect. So perfect he wonders how she’ll taste where his hand is currently working.

Robb hurries to make his fantasy come to fruition by securing an arm around her and pressing her impossibly close as he picks her up and brings her a short ways to her vanity. Quite frantically, he clears the space and places her atop the surface.

On his knees and just before he parts her legs he looks up to wild yet fearful eyes. The scared eyes of a little lamb, even her arms begin to shake as she uses them to brace herself upright so she is not slumping back into the mirror.

Robb wills himself to stand before her and takes her cheek in hand, a familiar gesture for her. “I forget myself, my lady.” He takes a breath in attempt to compose himself. “Forgive me, I should tell you what I'm doing to ease your mind.”

“I trust you,” her voice is so gentle and earnest and soft and it's a dagger in Robb’s chest.

Her legs wrap around him and he can feel her stockings drag against his clothes and it's a strangely sensual thing. “My sweet girl, trusting me is the last thing you should be doing.”

“I love you,” she doubles down, “I will to the end of my days and I trust you when you say you will come back to me alive. There is no other option.”

Fighting the wildlings was the last thing on his mind, oddly enough. “Aye, I'll come back.” He whispers then bites the inside of his cheek to keep from moaning when she slides to the edge of the vanity and reaches her small hand down  against the throbbing in his breeches.

“Please love me, _please_.”

Sweet girl is not even a fitting name for her anymore, she's sweeter than the honey that was dribbling from her finger, she’s too kind and innocent to be from this bloodthirsty world.

Robb is not a worthy match for such a girl. “I will,” he kisses her and hikes her skirts greedily up her thighs, but a conservative knock at his door makes him pause.

That fucking cunt, “Renly Baratheon.” Robb grits the name out as Myrcella jerks, startled from the intrusion of privacy.

Robb cradles the back of her head and kisses her forehead before stepping back and allowing her to hide herself in the basin room like he knows she wants to. She's a timid little lion.

“What is it?” Robb cracks the door only enough to see that it is both Renly and Theon.

They both peer at him knowingly and all it does is make him angry. “One of you say fucking something that's worthy of my time.”

Renly holds his smile at bay and clears his throat. “You look wild, my lord. Did we interrupt—”

“Renly.” Robb swears to himself that he will no longer confide his feelings to anyone. Not if this is what it brings.

“Okay, enough jokes.” Renly yields and yanks Robb forward so he is out the door and in stride down the corridor going where he does it know. Theon drapes his cloak over his shoulders. “Hurry and wipe that puzzled look off your face, your lord's are horsed and gathered in the courtyard.”

Robb tries to steel himself. “Why are they all together so late. Do they plot my demise already?”

“Gods no,” Renly laughs. “Don't worry they like you, you're the boy of Lord Eddard. They're gathered to go out. Wildlings have been sighted in the wolfswood and plan to sack Winter Town.”

It happens too sudden, all this information. Robb was not supposed to fight tonight. He wasn't supposed to kill his first man without Jon by his side. Theon thrusts his sword belt at him and with shaken hands Robb take it and buckles it around his hip. “Theon, my horse.” He says evenly despite his heart doing its best to crack through his ribs.

Theon goes ahead to prepare his horse and Lord Renly clamps a firm hand on Robb’s shoulder. “Good.” He says in his ear. “It's okay to be afraid, but don't let them see you look afraid. Understand?”

Robb nods and lets out one last shaky breath. “Stay with Myrcella.” He commands. “Explain to her what is happening but don't scare her. Gods, please tell it to her gently.”

“I will do my best.” He assures just as they reach the doors to the courtyard. Renly stays back as Robb pushes through and watches all of the Northmen watch him and he heads for Theon and his horse.

He's not wearing proper armor, but he supposes there's no time for that.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry it's been too long of a time since I last updated! I struggled with an idea for this chapter and unfortunately I think that it shows in the writing but there's a lot of wonderful comments that were left on the last chapter so I wanted to get something out sooner rather than later.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A coldness Myrcella has never known seeps into Winterfell.

Renly is getting married. 

A lovely bride from the Reach, she is as rich as the harvest she and her family brought up from Highgarden. The ceremony was in a sept too small for such an occasion, but they all made it through. Most importantly Robb made it through.

He was on edge the whole time and even now at the feast, a muscle in his jaw worked as he watched Renly and Margaery Tyrell dance elegantly to their southern bards. 

She wishes he would say what uneases him so. Myrcella didn't like how miserable he looked during such a time of celebration. “Berry?” She offers a juicy red strawberry, it was her favorite and she felt Robb had never had the pleasure of tasting one. 

He spares her a glance. “You enjoy it, my lady.” 

He is still kind and that makes it all worse. “My lord,” she pleads as she takes his hand from his chin so his full attention is to her. “Is there something on your mind?” Her brows are creased with worry as she asks. Ever since he has returned from battle he has grown solemn. 

“All of these people in Winterfell annoy me.” He says quietly. “I don't approve of this wedding and I don't approve of it happening here .” 

It was such a direct answer Myrcella had to blink to take in it’s harshness. She is not used to her husband having such a bite to his words. She couldn't imagine that bite ever being directed at her. “Has Uncle Renly done something?” 

“He's just as ambitious as these Highgarden peaches.” Robb bit his lip looking out into the audience, eyes flickering about in a paranoid manner. “I did not see it before. Now I’ll have Stannis Baratheon at my throat…. I am much more scared of him than  _ Renly _ .” 

He spit Renly’s name out with such venom Myrcella had to look away, retreating her gaze back into her lap at this new found cruelness. She did not like her Uncle Stannis either but she failed to see what Renly had done. 

“What will Stannis do to you?” 

A warm hand smoothed up and down her back. “Nothing of serious consequence. But I cannot say the same for Renly. When this is over Renly and his new wife will leave and hopefully, Stannis will see I wanted no part of this. Don't worry, my father will sort this… lack of communication.” 

Myrcella nods and turns to offer a faint smile. “Your father wouldn't let anything happen to us.” She agrees and Robb leans up to place a kiss at her hairline. 

“Forgive me, I did not mean to scare you…” 

“No,” Myrcella whispers and shakes her head. “I would like to know more. All I know is that you are gone all day doing whatever a lord needs to be doing. I'd like to know what is going on.” 

Robb’s icy eyes melt into a crystal pool as he looks at her. She smiles when he kisses her. This time a barely there touch on her lips as his hand cradles her neck. “Trust me. You'd live easier not knowing.”

“Well, I would rather see the truth than live a lie, my lord.” She says easily and they both lean back in their chairs, his arm draped over her shoulders. 

“I get ravens from both the south and north telling me the realm is in great danger. Lord Commander Mormont asks for men to join the Watch while I've sent swords south to guard my father and sisters… it's all nasty and cruel business.” 

“All you can do is make your best choice.” Myrcella says with no easy weight. Though she does not know the intricacies, she can hear the struggle in her husband’s voice. 

“That's what I'm going to do… start making choices.” Robb says with finality. Myrcella wonders who has been making his choices for him, and then it's obvious. Renly must've been in his ear.

The air feels toxic and rancid now as Myrcella watches Renly and a group of Tyrell’s laugh and drink together. Soon Robb rises and announces their leave. He coldly drops a lord’s courtesy and bids everyone to stay and drink as long as they'd like. 

The boisterous holler of the feast is muffled and cut off as Robb escorts Myrcella through Winterfell’s dark corridors. His hand is firm on her lower back and it is nice to breath fresh cool air. What was not so nice was the silence. 

All Myrcella could think about was what could be happening in King’s Landing. How was her mother and brothers and what in the name of the gods was Uncle Stannis upset about? He was never a cheerful man but he was never out right cruel to Myrcella either. Finally, she wondered why Robb had to send men to his father. Eddard Stark holds the regency, he has the kingsguard, the best knights in the kingdom, to protect him.

The hand at her back tightened. “Please do not trouble yourself, princess. I should be the only one to worry about these things. Nothing of consequence is going to happen. I'll make sure of it.”

No matter how much she wanted to believe him, she didn't. He is lying. “Nobody is happy.” She tries to keep her face from souring, but she fails. “Ever since my father died everything has been falling apart. What holds the realm together?” 

Robb halts his pace to look at her. “That is precisely the problem, Myrcella. Everyone wants to be king and no one is working together. There are some people who want to make things right and others who want the power for themselves.

“So Renly is one of those who wants the power for himself?” 

“Renly has no right to the throne… there are plenty of people in line ahead of him and he is too dense to understand. He can talk and smile at people, so he thinks he has a right to rule. That is why I am so upset at him, sweet girl. That is why he must leave Winterfell and my family alone. I want no part of his plots.” 

Myrcella recalls to that one night. The night where Myrcella and her uncles were all drinking with Robb into the late hours of the night. Everyone was all laughs and smiles telling stories and singing the songs of old. That night she felt so free and warm... 

“He can't mean us harm.” Myrcella wishes she could speak to Renly herself. “He is our family.”

Something like pity flashes in Lord Robb’s eyes before he pulls Myrcella into an embrace. She holds him back, tight, and crushes her face into his chest. His arms holding her together are a great comfort to all of the things that have been tearing at her.

She'd been lonely in Winterfell, missing her family. She missed how her mother stroked her cheek and walking with Tommen through the gardens catching lizards, and how her father used to muss her hair… that was her life and it was perfect. It was fun and now it’s over.

“We have to be brave,” Robb says into her hair. It is the same thing he said to her on their wedding night, only she was the only one who had to be brave. Now it is ‘we’. Now in her new life, it will always be  _ we _ . 

Her hands fist and anchor themselves in his doublet. “We will be.” She affirms. “No matter what, I trust you and you can trust me.” 

Robb’s hands clench hard at her waist when she says it. She looks up and their eyes collide. It's more powerful than any words. He knows she is undoubtedly loyal to him. Nothing from before matters. Myrcella must look ahead and if he is making choices, so is she. Girlhood is gone, no longer can she cling to it. 

“We’ll do what we can to protect ourselves. Renly knows I want him gone. He can go leach off of the Tyrell’s now. The north will side with the crown.” 

The idea of picking sides was scary. At the very least, Myrcella knows one side will lose. She wants one last chance to talk with Renly, beg him to not go through with whatever foolishness he is planning. “What if we can convince Renly to stop this? I don't know why he wants to be king but he can't want it more than his life.”

“It's a lot of things, princess, and I've tried to convince him otherwise. He's sure that this is what he wants so, so be it, but he will not stay in Winterfell. I don't want to be involved in southern wars. I don't want my father to be either, but there's nothing I can do about that.”

Myrcella won't kid herself and pretend to know what war is. The only strife she knows is being wed off to a stranger and that proved itself to be a surprisingly pleasant experience. “Can your father come back? At least for a little while?”

Robb shakes his head. “I wish he would, though. Bran and Rickon wish it too. He is the rightful lord, I’m nothing but a pretender.” 

“I think you're doing well. Of course, I don't know everything you do but I do walk through Winterfell and occasionally Winter Town, and everyone seems well and good. That's all that matters, right? That you provide for the people on your lands?” 

“That's a part of it, yes.” His smile is gentle as is the pad of his thumb as it strokes the apple of her cheek. “Thank you Myrcella. You're my eyes when it comes to the common folk.” 

She wasn't really, it was just something she saw day to day, but hearing that from Robb made her feel tall and proud. “We’ll see your father when Joff and Sansa wed, won't we? That must be soon.” 

Myrcella was expecting a smile from the reminder that they’ll both be seeing their families in King’s Landing but she never got one.

“What?” The word echoed seemed to echo from her lips. 

Robb’s stony demeanor from the feast returns. “I don't know if that betrothal is such a good idea.”

Myrcella was just about to ask if the betrothal had been officially broken but a trill voice came from the opening doors of the dining hall.

Robb displaced himself two steps away at once, even before Myrcella could see it was Margaery Tyrell who had come out for some air. 

“Oh, my good lord and lady,” she bows with a gracious smile.

“Good evening Lady Margaery.” Myrcella greets only to be promptly ignored.

“Everyone jokes that you fled before the bedding ceremony, my lord. I have to say I am surprised to see you still wandering the hall. You looked grievously tired.”

Robb offers no pleasantries and it makes Myrcella uneasy. “Margaery, go back inside. Renly will be worried if he discovers you're missing.”

Her honey brown hair bounces as she smiles bright enough for both her and Robb. “I told him I needed air, there's no need for anyone to worry.” Margaery directs her eyes to Myrcella now and they are too soft on her to be true. Myrcella has not had a single one on one conversation with Margaery, Robb has kept her from all the Highgarden ladies. They are still strangers.

Margaery’s brows lift skyward as she bends forward. Slim, strange hands press against Myrcella’s painfully obvious flat belly. “Is there a precious new Stark in the way?  I know everyone is eagerly waiting for the announcement.”

Myrcella exhales a tiny gasp and her eyes widen. “That's enough.” Robb cuts in and Myrcella feels a firm grip around her arm yank her back. “Go back to Renly, Margaery.” Robb sounds just as strained and just as cruel as he was talking about Renly at dinner.

As they walk away Myrcella can still hear Margaery's voice echo after her. “Perhaps tonight will be the night for both of us, my darling!” 

Myrcella’s head spins. “People are expecting a child?” So soon?

“No, she's lying,” Robb growls. “My father is yet the rightful Lord of Winterfell. We have time.” 

Myrcella wasn't ready and if the realm is as unstable as it seems she doesn't want to bring in a new babe. Her family has a history of odd births. Twins, dwarves, even death, her 

Lady grandmother Joanna died birthing Uncle Tyrion. “Robb, what if I'm never ready?” She asks wrought with worry, but he still had her arm in hand, dragging her to their chambers. 

“When you're older you will be, don't you worry your pretty head over it.” He holds her, his hands snaking around her waist for comfort. “It's an instinct, I think. Something we have to let nature take care of. You'll feel the need for a child eventually, and it's okay if it's not now.” 

“Are you ready? What if one of us wants a child but the other doesn't?”

“I can wait just as long as you can, princess, I promise. There is no hurry. Not in the slightest… my father still lives and has a long life ahead.” 

That sounded like a lie too. “Should we go to King’s Landing?” Myrcella is careful and speaks evenly. “Please, just so you can see your father and I can see my mother. Lady Catelyn can stay here and watch over everything.” 

Robb hastily ushers her through the door of their chambers, “We must stay in Winterfell.” He says not unkindly, but still through a strained jaw. 

In a fit of helplessness, Myrcella wrestles against his grip to free herself from being dragged any further. Robb has had his fingerprints on every aspect of Myrcella’s life since they met, but as of late he has tightened her restraints. 

“Why?” Her own voice startles her by how distraught it is. Forever the word seemed to echo between them until she couldn't take it anymore. “I'm sorry.” She cowers, ashamed her frustrations had gotten the better of her. She has sent countless letters to her mother and not a single one had garnered a reply. Her home is Winterfell now, but she misses her mother and sweet Tommen dearly. 

Robb took a breath and distanced himself. That wasn't what she wanted. She chased after him, taking a step forward just as he took one back. “I know I am your wife. I'm happy that I am, house Stark is my place now, but I would like to see my mother and brother well.” 

Eagerly Myrcella waited for Robb to say anything. His face was kept plain and unreadable. “They are well and safe. You have my word.” 

She takes his arm excitedly, “Has she sent a raven? My I see her parchment?” She wants to see her mother’s beautiful swirly scrawl again. Maybe it would even smell like sweet cinnamon, like her. 

“I don't have it anymore,” Robb says quickly and quietly before nudging her back through the threshold of their chambers. “Now go on to bed. I have birds of my own to send out.” 

Myrcella’s heart drops. “Robb,” she pleads, her soul crushed and heart longing for affection. “We are partners in this union, are we not? Yet you hide from me day and night–”

“Hiding?” He booms, offended. “I'm working tirelessly to keep the ones I love safe. Foes and false friends are all around, Myrcella. I cannot trust a single soul and it's driving me into madness.” 

The panic in his voice strikes through Myrcella’s fear to her heart as she takes one of his hands into her own. “Trust me,” urges, “you know you can always trust me, I’ve told you so many times, Robb,” she is doing all she can to help, but his gaze hardens on her as he clutches his hand back to his side. 

“I have to go.” Ice burns low in his voice as he turns to fume down the corridor. 

Shaken hands cradle in her elbows as Myrcella holds herself. She meant to act strong. Pull together the courage a woman grown would have, but all it’s resulted in is her feeling broken.

Robb indeed had his fingerprints on every facet of her life. What would become of her now? He despises her, mistrusts her, and for what reasons? She does not know. 

_ We.  _ It was supposed to be  _ we.  _ She is his and he is hers. 

She sobs, hand on mouth to quell the sound. Tears leak over her fingers, dripping to the floor. A feather light touch on her shoulder had her stomach dropping to her feet.

She gasps and jumps, only to be hushed by the smoothed melodic voice of Margaery Tyrell. “Darling girl,” Myrcella feels a soft pull leading her into her rooms. Margaery sits on the chaise and beckons Myrcella to join in beside her. 

She does so all while hiding her tear stained face behind waves of gold. Though Margaery tucks the curtain of security behind Myrcella’s ear. 

Myrcella looks ahead, upset and unable to meet Margaery's eyes. 

Myrcella expects Margaery to pry. To ask hurtful, hateful questions and to manipulate with flowery southern words, but the girl with the soft brown hair does none of that. She is calm and quiet and offers a gentle touch. Arm strung around Myrcella, she strokes up and down her arm until she is leaning on Margaery’s shoulder. 

“Cry if you need to, darling.” It is not even above a whisper, but Myrcella takes the invitation. Turning into open arms, she quietly weeps. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paranoia wracks the wolf.

The snow fell so thin the flakes were taken up and swirled around in the breeze. Robb watched as the litters in the courtyard filled with men and girls alike, ready to return south. 

Renly squeezed his shoulder, “I wish you good fortune, brother.”  _ Brother _ . Robb shivered, his brothers were Bran and Rickon. 

And Jon. 

He could still remember Jon asking for more men to man the wall. Years it felt like Robb had missed him, yet when they saw each other that was the first thing Jon had said. He needed something from Robb and he refused his brother for his father. 

They fought side by side at the Gift. Jon had gotten better with the sword. Robb marveled at how his brother cut through men better than any shiny, anointed knight. Red painted over frosted grass soured whatever moment he and Jon could have. Cries and screams and the clangor of battle ruined any sweetness that could've come from that trip. 

Robb feels it every night. His blade in his own hand being thrust into a beating chest. He feels the wetness of blood sodden his gauntlets and his men dying at his side to protect him. He feels it when he's asleep, awake, when he's with Bran, Rickon and Myrcella. He cannot escape it.

They are all so sweet and he is a murderer. The wildlings were savages, but to his horror, they looked like men. Pleaded like men when they were at death's door. Prayed like men when they knew it was the end for them. Some went out with a war cry, others with tears on their cheeks. All different kinds of men, but all brave. All willing to sacrifice for what they think is right.

Renly grows tired of Robb’s silence. “Until next time, then.” He farewells and disappears into his litter with his new lady wife, Margaery of House Tyrell and her brother. 

Robb can hear Myrcella whimper at his side. Battle did not turn his heart to stone, he bled hearing her cries and seeing her tears. 

Very few things remain sweet in this world. 

As the carriages leave with the thunderous roar of horses trotting away, Robb retreats back to his castle.

Renly had his southern plots, but at least he was company. A man who knew the dark deeds they had committed, now Robb was alone. He hoped he'd be better off this way, but now feeling his empty solar, he knew he was wrong. He doesn't know how to play these games.

Tyrion Lannister was still around, still asking questions and still playing. Playing better than Robb. 

The dwarf keeps himself well likable but Robb knows he is plotting. He can feel it.

The Umber's, Glover’s, the Karstarks, they all went home. Robb has his mother, though she is frantic and demands the imp's blood. 

An act of war is what that is. Tyrion is their guest, Robb will do him no such harm… but it is curious why he stays. He is free to leave and whore and drink and do whatever he does in King's Landing where it is warm.

He reads, Robb knows. He keeps to himself late at night in the library with a pitcher of wine. The books in Winterfell are old ones where the bindings have gone loose and the pages turned yellow. Perhaps he simply enjoys the old stories. 

But nothing is done for the simple pleasure of it anymore. Tyrion knows of something, Robb is sure of it and he must still his hand from shaking every time he thinks about it. 

He is losing and he wonders if his father is doing the same. Seldom does a raven from King’s Landing come for him. With all the men he sent south, father must be safe. It cannot all be for naught, for he promised Jon he had good reason he had no one left to spare for the wall. 

_Jon_. He was upset. Disappointed in not only his ally, the lord of Winterfell, but also in his brother. 

Bran is cold to him as well. In bed all day, the poor boy lies and listens to the ramblings of old Nan. Robb promises to go out riding with him but there is never enough time to spare. 

Lord, son, brother,  _ husband _ , he is a failure on all fronts. Myrcella, a captive for a wife. A pretty, sweet little wife… He has distanced himself from her but he still watches and sees how quiet she's become. Her smile is now a rare find and they hardly speak. Robb is unable, he doesn't trust himself. 

From his high seat of privilege, Robb finds himself wishing he was bastard born and free to run away as Jon had done. 

Night had fallen over Winterfell. The moon was a giant’s eye, high in the sky looking over the north. Gearing up with cloak and furs, Robb took for the cool midnight air. Sleep doesn't come easy anymore but a walk in the cold helps he finds. 

Out in the privacy of the godswood he roams, snow fluttering past his cheeks and through his hair, it's a space where he can breathe. 

Time stands still and his heart is allowed to settle. Robb’s hand disappears into Grey Wind’s fur and pauses to take in the serenity of this moment of calmness.

Calmness that was soon infringed upon when he hears voices. Quiet, hushed voices. Grey Wind stalks beside Robb as he journeys further into the wood, to the heart tree.

_A coat of gold and a coat of red_ , Robb thinks as he sees the tall silhouette of his wife and her golden hair next to her dearest Lannister uncle. 

Tyrion eyes him first, as his demeanor changes Myrcella must realize something is wrong and she turns back. Her cheeks and lips are flushed like they always are as of late. Robb isn't blind, he knows she cries more ever since Renly’s wedding. He knows he treats her differently, he has to. 

Their union is a farce, he can't go on acting like this princess’ prince. He's a killer, not a knight. He wed a girl of five and ten to tie a noose around her mother’s throat while his father makes a case to rally the realm against her family. 

“Lord Stark,” Tyrion says easily but still the words carry eerily through the misty wood. “Are you upset we lost our friends as well?” 

Renly was hardly a friend. It was a relief to be rid of a false ally, but Robb did feel some sort of emptiness. “The castle feels different.” Is all he says, holding his hands into firm fists. Careful to keep tremors at bay.

Tyrion nods, he is oddly quiet. Robb grows suspicious with every second. His settling heart picks its pace back up. The dwarf kisses Myrcella's hand and nods once more to Robb. “I think I'll be off to bed. Drinking all day has its merits, a hearty night’s sleep being one of them.” 

The imp leaves and Robb searches Myrcella for answers if she knows anything she shouldn't. Her face remains a broken canvas, eyes cast to the ground. 

Robb steps closer, hand cradling her cheek and lifts her face to his to see...

To see a scared girl. He releases her, feeling every bit the dastardly scum he is. Her lip quivers as her gaze returns down and toward the black reflection in a neighboring pool of water. 

“You miss your Uncle Renly?” He finally asks while keeping a step away from her. 

Loose, long strands of gold shimmer in the moonlight as she nods. “And Margaery Tyrell.” 

Worry creeps back up Robb’s throat and he pulls uneasily at his collar. “Why do you miss her?” Robb chastises himself for fearing the words of women, but how could he not? He knows now that words are as easily a weapon as swords.

Myrcella holds herself in at her elbows as if to fight off the looming chill. “She was kind and soft and lovely.” She murmurs. “When she left so did all of those things.” 

Again, he bleeds for Myrcella. Wishes he could be the warmth she needs to fight the cold and to be all the things she had expected him to be… but he's not any of those things and no longer can he pretend to be. 

Now it is a game of secrets and spies and Robb loathes it. “It is late for you, isn't it?” 

She nods once more before raising the courage to look at him all on her own. “Did you hate me all along?” 

“Of course not. I don't hate you now.” It's the truth and Robb hates himself for making it sound false. He takes her arm, “I mean it, sweet girl,” 

“Sweet girl,” she sneers and forces his hand away. “Don't call me that if you don't mean it. I don't care if you don't think I'm sweet or pretty anymore, I care that you realize who I am. I am yours, now and always. I still stand by that even if you don't trust me or want to be around me, I will  _ always _ be around, Robb. I trust you with my life and my heart, what have you given me?” 

He wasn't meant to give, he was meant to take. Take her as a wife, trap the Lannisters. “I can't give myself so freely, I am the Lord of Winterfell.”  _ Your captor. _

Myrcella's pretty face scrunches with disgust. “You have despised me this whole time and you've only wooed me when it suits you,”

Robb raises his voice, “There is a lot of ground between hate and love. I feel neither for you, it does not mean I despise you.” 

“They are two sides of the same coin.” She says with more wisdom than what should be possible for an idyllic princess of her age. 

“I appreciate and admire you. I have never in all the days that I've known you, hated you.” 

“It amazes me how easily you can lie through your teeth.” 

“I'm in my Gods’ own sacred forest, you think I am able to lie? You overestimate me.” Myrcella has become more frustrating than passive and he worries it is because of what Tyrion has been whispering in her ear. 

Myrcella takes a step toward the black, hot pool of water. Her reflection clear as crystal in the moonlight. “I do not want to be afraid of you, but when you keep everything from me fear cuts deep into my bones. I trust you with my heart, you have to know you can trust me.” 

There it is,  _ trust me. _ Robb takes a breath. “Stately business is my own, but if you must know, I already trust you with everything that means anything to me.” 

She turns, puzzlement wrought on her features. “You go out riding with Bran when I cannot,” Robb explains, “you sing to Rickon, sew with and console my mother when she is hysterical about missing Sansa and Arya. I trust you with my family, with my home and–” he almost says it. Almost says the damning final words of ‘I love you’. 

The rigid gold melts from her form and she softens. Eyes once distraught and watery are now gentle and kind. She bends into a bow, “my lord,” and Robb watches her walk to the castle as proud as a lion in winter. 


	8. Chapter 8

Early sunlight paints the room gold and splashes against Myrcella’s eyes. Groggily, she rises and wipes the sleep from her eyes.

Her feet are warmed by Summer just as her side is by Bran. Most nights she reads to him and more often than not, she sleeps beside him as well. Bran likes her company and she likes his. It's simple, and these days that is what Myrcella craves.

“Any dreams? Nightmares?” She asks, knowing he's awake though his eyes are closed.

“Both.” Bran never explains his dreams, he only says he has them. Myrcella thinks that's fine if he wants to keep them to himself, it keeps their simple bond simple.

“Joffrey is arriving today, isn't he?” Bran says and Myrcella looks back over to the boy. His eyes are open now.

She nods, “I never imagined him fostering anywhere, especially in the north.” Truth be told, Joff was too old to be sent off and fostered. At the age of eight or seven he should've gone. Now it wouldn't do much good, he won't change or be willing to learn.

“Robb hates him.”

Myrcella turns away, picking at the furs in her lap. “I know.”

“Why he allow him to stay here?” How was Myrcella supposed to have the answer to that? “Are things going to change?”

Myrcella searches through the furs and grabs Bran’s hand. “He's only staying for a night or two to rest before he finishes his trip. I'll still go out riding with you if that's what you're wondering.” Myrcella loves Bran. At first she thought she just liked taking care of him, that the gods caused his accident so that she may find solace in nursing him when she had no one else, but she really does like his company. Like a brother of her own, she loves him and she thinks he loves her.

The door opens and like every morning, it's Hodor.

“Hodor.” He says and sidles up to the bedside to take Bran in arms.

Myrcella throws the furs away and gets herself up and going. “See you,” she chimes as she leaves to ready herself. Wrapping herself in dove grey wool topped with a powdered blue cloak, she looked like any other northern girl, with the exception of a slim gold ring on her ringer. None of the northern ladies wore jewelry, but Myrcella liked it even though it chilled her skin when the metal was exposed to the northern air.

She let go of everything from King’s Landing but not this. Not her rings or necklaces. Now Joff will be here and he won't even recognize her. She's pale and dressed in pale colors.

In the courtyard a light snow floats through the air and Myrcella has her hood pulled up over her head. Her hair wasn't red or brown, but noticeably yellow gold. With it hidden she really was just another wandering soul in Winterfell. Not even Robb would be able to pick her from a crowd like this.

Two figures sneaking away to the side of the armory catch her attention, Myrcella smiles to herself as she follows them. Easily she recognizes her lady Marla, it takes just another moment to recognize the other as Theon.

Mouth agape she watches them meld to each other. Theon grabbing and bunching up Marla’s skirts as he devoures her lips. It was a lewd sight, one that should not be so out in the open. She shouldn't be doing this and Myrcella shouldn't be gawking at them as she is.

“They're at it everyday,” Myrcella jumps at the voice and can hear the clangor of hammering steel come back to her ears as the rest of the courtyard comes into focus.

She turns to the blacksmith apprentice. “Good morning Gendry,” she rings pleasantly and the boy with dark hair and bright eyes drop.

“Sorry, m’lady.” He bows. “I didn't realize it was you.”

“It's fine, Gendry. Please continue your work. I didn't mean to disrupt.”

“Not anymore disruptive as them, m’lady.” Gendry nods toward the armory and Myrcella cringes. She can hear them giggle and sigh their approval over each other.

“I knew Marla liked Theon but I didn't know,” Myrcella clears her throat as both she and Gendry shift uncomfortably on their feet. “It's not very becoming of either of them.” She forces herself to end the statement.

“Not when a lady like yourself is around. Theon never learns though, he does what he wants.”

Because his best friend is lord, Myrcella rolls her eyes before returning her attention to Gendry. “Does he bother you?”

The black smith shrugs with hammer in hand. “He gloats about himself like he's king or something, it's nothing I can't ignore. There were worse kinds in King’s Landing.”

Myrcella smiles at that. She almost forgot Gendry came from the streets of her home city. “Well, when you've had enough come to me. I'll speak to Robb.” She can't promise he will listen, but she can promise that she’ll do what she can.

Speaking of him, she hears his voice call for her. Myrcella turns and takes her hood down. It is not often Robb comes searching for her himself. Sometimes he sends a servant for her, most times he just never bothers to see her.

The way he looks it's as if he were approaching Marla and Theon on top of eachother. He's rigid and stern. Myrcella can feel Gendry behind her bowing.

Myrcella bends as well, “my lord.” She greets politely and not unkindly. She tries to be kind to him just like she tries to understand him.

“Your brother is riding up to the gates. I thought you'd like to accompany me to welcome him.”

“Of course,” she adjusts her cloak and then accepts Robb’s arm as he takes her to the opening gates. Heart in her throat, Myrcella never takes her eyes off the litter coming through. It surprises her that Joff wouldn't be riding in on a horse. A peek of blonde hair flashes as he climbs down and he's adorned with red and black leathers and furs.

A small smile comes on Myrcella's lips as their eyes meet. Joff has grown, he's taller and has steel strapped to his hip.

Robb gives a cold greeting, it's the only kind of greeting he's capable of anymore. Joffrey only looks on with mild disgust. It was like a dream, seeing her family. It was only Joffrey, but that's her brother. A part of her old life.

“Sister, you look the same.”

Myrcella’s smile drops slightly. She shouldn't look the same. She's changed, she knows she has. “You as well.” She lies and is taken into a strange hug. Joffrey does not hug, she thinks to herself as she awkwardly pulls away. Wrongly, she wishes it was her mother, Tommen, anyone else.

“No children? Mother will be sad to hear.” Joffrey sneers and laughs like it's a joke.

An old joke Myrcella tires of hearing. She doesn't need to birth a baby, Bran is her baby. He gives her the happiness mother is wanting her to have.

The rest of the day is odd. Winterfell doesn't feel the same with Joffrey in it. Irregularities continued to happen, like Robb inviting her to a private dinner held in his solar. She doesn't ever go in there, now she's openly invited and it still feels like she not allowed.

She twirls her fork in the silence of nothing but plates and silver clinking while she sneakily tries to look around. There are no windows, only candlelight brings light to the darkness. Nothing but books and parchments and wax and ink are littered around. His desk is messy, his plate sits over letters while Myrcella’s is over a book he was working through.

If this is where he spends his days, she feels pity for him.

“Sorry, about the mess,” he catches her and Myrcella knows she is not as sneaky as she thinks she is.

“It's fine, I don't mind it. Really.” Her eyes return to her plate of roasted duck. Her appetite has dwindled to nothing and she knows she'll regret later tonight if she doesn't eat. She forces herself to eat a slice of carrot.

“Robb,” his head tilts up upon hearing his name and myrcella’s chest swells with butterflies before continuing, “why did you invite me here?”

“To talk.”

“Then why aren't you talking?” She gives him the benefit of the doubt, that he won't lie. Time after time she feels sick, sick missing what they were like before. When he was her whole world and she thought she was his. But that was false. Too good to be true.

Robb sighs, “alright then, Joffrey is being sent to Karhold,”

“I know. He is leaving tomorrow and I am not joining him for dinner.” She doesn't love joffrey's company, but she wouldn't mind speaking to him of home and mother and Tommen.

“I thought you wouldn't want to be near him after the comment–”

“The baby comment? I don't care,” she says too defensively for it to be completely true. “I don't think you invited me here for my sake.”

She's speaking her mind, encouraging Robb to do the same. She sees the challenge spark in his eyes as he takes a drink of ale. “Aye, and if I did it for my sake?”

She rolls her eyes at the question. “We both know you didn't. Just say you don't want me by my brother.”

Robb hardly looks surprised. “Fine. I don't want you by your brother.”

Myrcella can feel her lips press together, frustration taking hold. “Why?”

“I don't trust him.”

“You don't trust anybody.” Myrcella lashes and drops her fork. “You only listen to your mother and Maester Luwin. You spend all your time with them, but what about me? I am prepared to give you anything and you shove me away. I'm miserable, and I hate to admit that, I truly do. I'm miserable without you. For me there is nothing beyond these walls, I live for you and Bran and that's it. When Uncle Tyrion left I felt he was abandoning me. How could he leave me with a husband that hates me, I cursed him for weeks.”

The tirade ended with Myrcella breathless. She has spoken her mind and bitterly she swipes the stray streaks of tears running from her cheeks.

She was prepared for Robb to shrug. For him to look on uncaringly, but all he does is stare holes into her.

“I want to retire.” She finally says and scoots back her chair until he protests.

“Stop,” she freezes at the tone in his voice. The room rumbles as he pulls his chair out from his desk and stands. He looms over her and it makes her feel so small until he kneels before her.

Face to face, she's never been so close to this Robb, to Lord Robb, and she feels like squirming away but there was no where to go.

“This is what you wanted, me here with you, and now you can't look at me?”

He was making her angry so why did tears keep slipping down. Lips held in a frown, Myrcella looks to deep feral eyes. “To protect my family I've in turn endangered yours. I've done a kindness to you by keeping those things hidden from you, this is the truth you've been seeking, been begging me for.”

A moment ago Myrcella had been ready squirm, fight her way up and past him just to get away, now she feels boneless. Like she should melt to her knees and beg mercy for her mother and brothers. “Can I please speak to Joffrey,” her voice is weak and airy, like wind.

“No, not alone.”

She anchors her fist tightly in the fabric of his sleeve, so tight she thinks it'll rip. “My mother?” Myrcella had sent her letter after letter thinking it was her fault her mother never wrote back, thinking that she was a disappointment.

“She is perfectly fine, believe me princess. She lives better than all the common farmers and merchants, that you can be sure of.”

“She's a widow, why not leave her be? She will be the queen mother eventually, please Robb, please,” As Myrcella pleads she can see Robb falter, crumbling to her level bit by bit. “Tommen is pure and innocent of anything, you have to know that, you and your father know that!”

“Myrcella, I know it's nothing you or Tommen or even Joffrey has done. It's your mother who must be held accountable. Your mother and your uncle.”

“Renly?”

“No, your uncle Jaimie.”

Myrcella seizes the moment when she sees Robb’s eyes soften on her, she takes his face between her hands and even slides one back to tangle her fingers in his hair. “Tell me,” he is so close to saying, she can feel him ease into her touch. She coaxes him further by circling her thumb over his cheek, a familiar motion she does with Bran when he has trouble sleeping.

It shocks her when he grabs her sides and lays his head down in her lap, like she's brought a great beast to heel. “I love you,” he says into her skirts, this man who easily could have the upper hand instead opts to kneel and cling to her like some servant.

It makes her heart race. “I have for a time now, such a long time,” it was everything she's wanted to hear, it would be too easy to get wrapped up in his words, but not so easy that she'd forgotten her family.

Robb lifts his head, his eyes bleed red with anguish. “I know I've been intolerable and you deserve better. I tried to be better for you–”

“By keeping secrets,” she finishes for him.

He nods and pulls her even closer. Robb's eyes are alarmingly red and watery and his nose pink, it's clear he wants to cry.

Myrcella's chest aches for him despite her reservations. A smart girl wouldn't be so swayed, but her husband who was battleborn and strong and capable was now at her feet holding her and on the cusp of tears.

He'd been as moving as stone the past couple of months and now he's as soft and sweet as cake sponge. Myrcella discovers if she's silent for too long, he speaks. The quiet uneases him. “I cannot do it any longer, keep you a step away. It kills me when I have to act so cold to you when all I want to do is hold you. When I see you with Bran or Rickon I see you with our future babes and how good and sweet you'll be to them. I don't want to keep lying to you, but if I tell you everything you'll hate me. I can't live in a world where you want to leave me.”

Each word grew more and more frantic as he went on, almost to the point of babbling until Myrcella slid down from her chair and into his lap.

With each new embrace she knows she tangles herself deeper into this mess that is Robb. Despite the warning signs, she continues to love and forgive, but she doesn't have to forget.

Lannisters don't forget.

“Robb,” she croons in his ear while holding the back of his neck, “My heart's already decided that I love you. You have me forever,”

“Forever,” he says into her neck. “Now and always.”

Stoic, liege lord Robb would always win in their battles, but this Robb, the true Robb Stark will be malleable and open to reasoning. “Please don't keep my or my family’s fate from me. I beg of you, Robb.” She pulls back to see him and is pleased when he nods.

“I promise. Tomorrow I'll have a meeting with you, only you.” Myrcella nearly demands that this meeting be taken place right now, but it was late and fatigue wore heavily on Robb’s face.

She presses her lips to his forehead and holds him a moment longer, swaying ever so slowly, it is the first time Robb lets the silence breath and take root.

And everything turned calm.

Myrcella is proud of how she handled it. This could've been a fight that ended in fire and boiling rage. Instead wounds were healed through emotional effort and compromise.

Robb's hands stroke up and then down her back, it feels like a goodbye. “I need to go,” he sighs. “I speak to Maester Luwin after dinner about the accounts.”

Myrcella nods, and is happy to see that Robb looks better. His nose not so red and his eyes not so wet. She kisses his lips and hops up for the door. “Thank you for this dinner, Robb.”

“Thank you for everything else,” he returns and for the first time in months his smile is directed toward her. A kind, genuine smile.

It leaves her feeling proud, it did not whisk her up in the clouds to dreamland, but it did make her feel wanted and loved and that's all she could ever hope for. That was what she wanted her life’s purpose to be, to love wholly and to be loved. There's nothing sweeter than that.

Myrcella walked herself to her chambers, fully intending to sleep in her own bed for a change. Bran will miss her but she’ll see him in the morning, ride with him in the afternoon, and watch him shoot arrows from his horse.

Humming a soft tune, Myrcella strips down to a simple shift and crawls into bed to lay her head down for rest.

Abnormal, cold bumps and wetness catch her feet beneath the furs and startles her, in a flash she crashes from the bed and runs to retrieve a candle. Hand shaken, the candle’s flame wavers but she can see at the foot of the bed, little pink masts of flesh covered in blood.

The candle drops and she screams. In a matter of moments her door opens with a rush, “what is it?” Robb says before he can find Myrcella curled down on the floor. She points to the bed.

He grabs the fallen candle and she can see his nose scrunch before covering his mouth with his hand.

“What is it, Robb?” Comes another voice, at the door is Theon.

“Lyla’s kittens…” he says lowly. “Gods, help me get them out of here.”

Lyla was the keep’s pregnant cat and Bran and Rickon were excited for the kittens to arrive.

“Robb?” Myrcella asks, confused.

He stops handling the sheets for a moment. “Someone told me earlier that they found an orange striped cat with its belly sliced open…” he says gravely.

Myrcella feels her stomach twist.

“Go on to Bran’s… I'll figure this out.”

She didn't need to be told twice. Quickly she took for the basin room, washed her feet and hurried to Bran’s. He was asleep, but she didn't think he'd mind if she slipped in.

Sleep did not come easy. Her hands cradled her stomach and her mind could not stop thinking about why those kittens were cut from their mother’s womb and planted in her bed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this chapter was all over the place. I too crave simplicity, alas I've only made a big mess.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to add a warning for some gory details added in at the end of this chapter. There is mention of blood and such so beware if you're sensitive to that <3

Gold painted her eyes come the morning light once again. The night had terrorized her, but eventually she found sleep only to be woken by a rustling. Eyes creaking slowly awake, to suddenly being shot open wide, Myrcella scrambles up over Bran.

“What are you doing!” She shoves Joffrey back a step and looks down to Bran, he looks fine and well, eyelashes resting on his cheeks as he sleeps, most likely in the middle of one of his heavy dreams.

“Relax,” Joffrey chuckles and prods one of Bran’s legs. “He really can't feel anything can he?”

Myrcella ignores his teasing. “Why are you in here?”

“I was looking for you. Not much to do in this frozen wasteland is there? How have you not jumped from the castle walls, you've been cooped up here for too long sister.” He cackles again while nudging Bran’s legs. “I suppose you could play with all the freaks, there's plenty of them around here.”

Myrcella frowns and pushes his hand away. “You haven't bothered Hodor, have you?” Hodor is simple but he is a golden giant, as kind as he is big.

Joffrey didn't answer, but his smirk was enough to knot Myrcella's stomach. “How was mother when you left?” She asks quickly to change subjects.

He shrugs uncaringly. “Fine. She rants and raves more since you left, and she wailed like a baby when I left. She's lost it.”

Myrcella doesn't take the time to respond, rushing out of bed and down the hall she runs straight into the person she wished most to speak to, Robb.

“Hey,” he catches her, mild surprise etched into his face. “How are you feeling?”

She can tell she looks a little worse for wear. It's likely that her hair is a tousled mess and her eyes are still begging for sleep, but regardless she grabs Robb's arm and takes him through the nearest door. “May I send a letter to my mother.” She twists her fist into his leather doublet, “I mean really let me send one. You can read it over, I don't care, but let me write her. Let me talk to her so I can tell her how I am.”

“Sure,” he says so simply it makes all of her fretting look ridiculous.

“Sure?” She can't believe how suddenly pleasant he is now. They haven't even had their meeting.

“If you're unbothered by me reading it, it will be fine.” She regrets he has to do that at all, but so long as her letter is actually sent, she doesn't really care.

“Can we talk now? My family, I know you said to protect yours you'd have to endanger mine, but is that really how it has to be?” Myrcella believed with all her heart that there was a mutual solution. No one needed to fall from grace. “My mother is guarded, but I promise she is a good woman. She can be kind.” She would give Myrcella the world if she could.

Robb remains gentle, no harsh lines or shadows murked his features. “I have no doubt she can be kind to you, Myrcella. You're her only daughter, but to anyone else? To my father? She'd ruin him to keep you safe, but she doesn't have you. I do.”

“I'm a hostage?” The words slipped, as soon as it clicked in her mind she said them. Robb visibly stood more reserved, like the guilt was more real for him once she realized what she was.

“In the beginning you were,” he admits softly, his eyes cast to the floor, but only for a moment until they rise to burn into Myrcella's. “We don't have to be our arrangement. It's taken me too long to figure that out. I'm sorry.”

“Our arrangement? You mean mine, don't you? I am the one being trapped here.”

Robb could hear the panic in her voice and hurries to close the gap between them. His arms loop around her and he holds her. She hates that she loves this, that he is so easy to comfort her when he is the exact reason for her distress. Biting her lip, she holds him back, knowing that with each embrace she's tangled in further and further into him.

“You're lying,” he says into her hair, “you don't feel trapped here.”

She shakes her head. Winterfell has been so nice. The people are nice, even the weather has grown on her. Yet, it wasn't a question of if she feels trapped, it's a fact that she is. Robb won't let her go home, but she can't get herself to hate him for that. She knows it's a problem, but when his lips fold messily and spontaneously over hers, she doesn't care.

In fact she embraces it. Her hands taking a firm hold within his curls, it feels like the correct answer to fall back on. Love over hate, love can have an impact just as much as hate can, and it is much more pleasant.

“I love you,” he whispers against her and it reminds Myrcella of all the times he has told her not to say those words out loud. He's warned her and she never listened close enough to understand.

His palm burns on her hip, skin on skin, she remembers she's just in her night shift and he's already breached the hem. The warmth from his hand inspires a heat of her own. Myrcella leans into the touch. Chasing after the fierce flutter in her chest Myrcella’s fingers clumsily clasp around Robb's wrist just to hold him like he does her. To tighten her grip when he does and to own him, just like he owns her.

And it all feels even and balanced until Robb’s thigh presses between her legs. Hands clamoring for his shoulders, Myrcella uses him for support as her knees buckle upon feeling the friction.

His voice rasped so deep words were barely discernable, “I love you,” his lips claim her neck so fiercely it's practically a brand, too hot on her skin. His head lowers to her breast and she plunges her hands into his hair as he moves downward, bunching up the skirt of her shift to her hips until his fingers were able to hook into her small clothes and yank them down.

Myrcella was too enthralled to be embarrassed, she hangs her head and simpers as she watches him grip her thighs and force them apart. For a moment his momentum comes to a halt, his head tilts up from between her legs and she thinks she might faint at the sight of pure blue eyes gazing up to her like she is the only thing he sees. She is the only thing that matters.

Her fingers tighten their hold in his hair to urge him to continue with whatever it is he's doing. It's lewd, she thinks. Much more so than what Theon and Marla do in the courtyard.

The heat of his mouth presses to the heat between her legs and his eyes never break. They stay intently on hers, the whole act is vulgar, obscene, but she doesn't look away.

The strokes of his tongue renders her breathless, too intense she finally must tear her eyes away, cheeks blazing red hot. So hot, she's never felt this sweltering in Winterfell before.

If it weren't for his grip climbing up to her hips and waist she knows she'd buckle over and crash to the ground. She is being held up right, but soon that doesn't matter. Her eyes shut and lighting lashes through her veins and nothing else is real to her, it's just him and her and this feeling– this helpless feeling, it takes over her and she gasps his name just as she feels she's about to break and disappear.

Strong arms coddle her, she's grateful for them and clings to them, leans in and closes her eyes against his chest to catch her breath. A smile threatens the corner of her lips as she feels his hand stroking over her hair. Myrcella misses the days when someone would mindlessly play with her hair all day.

“Never leave me,” she hears Robb and she nods. Why would she ever leave this? How would she? Winterfell is her home, the people like her here, she can protect her family from here.

She will never leave.

Her eyes creak open and for the first time she wonders about her surroundings. “Whose room are we in?” She questions lazily aloud.

Like always, Robb has the answers. “Sansa’s room… we should've gone to ours.”

Myrcella disagrees, it was all perfect the way it happened. She parts just enough to see the shine on Robb’s lips. Carefully, she thumbs away the glisten and he smiles. “You let that happen and not even a drop of arbor red in you.”

“It's arbor gold I prefer, and I will never not let that happen again.” Boldly, she kisses him. Finding a new confidence in herself she pulls him in, her tongue curling against his tasting all there was to taste. Yearning building back up in the pit of her stomach, she croons a sad tune when she feels him pull back, dip down to restore her smallclothes properly on her, and rise back up to kiss her forehead.

“In our own quarters, my lady, please.” He says into her hair and she nods, complacent in this request.

She takes his hand and drags him through the door and down the hall, though when she looks back there is a crinkle of worry in his brow.

“Do you hear that?” He stops Myrcella in her tracks so she can listen.

A muffled cry followed by a booming voice. Just as Myrcella hears it Robb is storming ten step ahead, turning the corner down the hall to where Bran’s rooms are.

Myrcella quickly follows suit to catch up, the closer she gets the worse Bran’s cries are and the quicker her feet move.

She and Robb arrive at the same time. “Bran!” He rushes to his brother’s side and Myrcella is able to see the blood sodden furs and blankets over Bran’s legs. Full panic courses through Robb, he throws the bed furs and uncovers Bran’s legs.

“Hodor Hodor Hodor Hodor Hodor.” Is all Myrcella hears, the poor giant was curled and rocking himself on the ground and endlessly changing the only word he knows.

She's horror stricken. Frozen in place, unable to comprehend what happened.

“I'm getting luwin, watch him.” Robb commands and carries a gust of wind with him as he leaves.

Myrcella pads gingerly to Bran, her shaky hands brushing away his hair from his tearful eyes. “Sweet boy,” she croons in attempt to comfort. Her eyes venture down to his legs.

“Hodor hodor hodor hodor….”

His breeches are covered in bloody holes. Myrcella jumps when she sees the blade on the ground.

Her gown weighs her down and she sees Bran tugging for her attention. “I don't feel it.” He says, voice hoarse and weak. “But I'm dizzy.”

“Sh,” Myrcella urges. “Please, please don't exert yourself. Maester Luwin will come and fix you and you'll get some rest and then we can sort this out, okay?” Myrcella tries to convince both herself and Bran that everything is under control.

“Hodor hodor hodor hodor….”

Terror had left Bran’s face haunted and Myrcella smooths back his hair once again, she doesn't want him to pass out without the aid of the maester so she keeps strumming away his tears and brushing his hair back.

“Myrcella,” he tries to speak again, he points back toward the door.

“Hodor hodor hodor…”

Without another word from Bran she leaves his side to investigate, knowing that there was something hiding back behind his chamber door.

Pulling it back from the wall, Myrcella takes a step back, hand over her open mouth, she meant to scream but nothing came out. All she could hear was Hodor Hodor Hodor Hodor…

Joffrey's head, collapsed in on itself. Trails of blood dripped from his golden hair over his face as his body lay there all twisted and mangled on the floor.

Not so long ago did Myrcella feel like she was on top of the world. Now her brother is dead, crushed and mutilated, right before her.

And all she could think of was her mother.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I haven't updated in a while, I feel bad for abandoning this story for so long :(

War.

When he saw the body all he could think of was war. It's unavoidable now, and the fact that the root cause of it happened on his own soil, in his own bloody home.

Robb is glad the prick is dead. The bastard mutilated Bran’s legs, but he fears the consequences. Joffrey belonged to a great house, bastard or not, it would do no good if he just disappeared. Word would get out soon enough, it'd be best if he sent the raven to King’s Landing himself. Boil the bones and have them sent with a trusted man.

“Let me accompany them, I don't need a litter. I can do well for myself on horseback now, I've gotten so much better since I started riding along with Bran everyday.”

Robb’s head aches hearing his wife’s voice. He rather ignore her involvement in this ugly mess. “Rodrick will handle the bones just fine on his own, my Lady.”

Myrcella scrunches her at Robb’s stern tone of ‘my lady’ before she takes his hand in her’s and he's forced to pay her mind, to look into her willful green eyes. It softens him when he sees her, and the keen girl knows it. “If I go I can calm my mother. I swear I can do it, let me see her, grieve with her.”

The last thing Robb is willing to do is to let her go. He may never get her back. He shakes his head and Myrcella’s face falls. Even in sorrow she is lovely. Her lips and cheeks tinged a rose color while her eyes glisten and shine as bright as the summer’s sun. Summer. She is summer.

Warm and golden and pleasant. She is the eternal summer in Winterfell, she cannot leave. “I would like you here.” He says quietly and when she leans in to hear everything feels heavier.

Her eyes flutter in disbelief. “But I can help, Robb. I can–”

“Stannis is in King’s Landing.”

Her beautiful face twists in confusion. “I don't care, and that's not what this is about. Listen to me, if I'm able to be at my mother’s side I can comfort her. Keep her from creating hateful thoughts of your family, of your father. I can fully explain how it was an accident. No harm will come to Hodor.”

Robb peels his eyes from her. With Joffrey dead the war will begin. Stannis and father will reveal the Lannister’s illegitimate heirs. Better that Myrcella is a prisoner in Winterfell than with Stannis. “I don't think you could keep Cersei from herself. She's going to do what she's going to do, you won't change her mind. You're safer here.”

“You are forcing me to stay, aren't you?”

Robb gives a pointed look, “yes,” he says with no easy weight. He doesn't enjoy having this power like she may think. “I will keep you here against your will if need be because you're safest here. Believe me.”

“I don't!” She retorts like a child, her arms crossing over her chest. “And I'm beginning to think you don't believe in me. I don't want to return to my family to conspire against yours, I only want to help. Help both Stark and Lannister houses reach peace.”

It is a beautiful dream, Robb thinks as he sighs to disparage his too good of a wife. “Peace is not possible. As far as Cersei is concerned, we’ve– I have drawn first blood, her own blood. You know your mother, she won't rest until she has me killed. It would be an eye for an eye, an heir for an heir.”

“I wouldn't let it come to that if you'd trust me and let me speak with her.”

Myrcella’s spirit was not something easily broken. “The final answer is no.” Robb says firmly, like he is scolding Arya for cutting off bits of Sansa’s hair, but it does little to deter her from her own conclusion.

“Why can't you take heed to my counsel? I swear to the Seven, just when I think I am through all of your walls, you throw up ten more. I am more to you than some kitchen maid, aren't I?”

That pricked a raw nerve, “yes,” the word comes out a low growl. She speaks as if he hasn't worshiped her and begged for her forgiveness. “I trust you, I don't fear that you'll betray me.” He cannot make it anymore clear.

“If I have the opportunity to stop any harm from coming to you, let me take that chance. I'm begging, Robb. My mother won't hurt me.”

No. He will refuse her again and take whatever vile thing she has to say about his decision. It can't be worse than losing her. “Ser Rodrick will deliver Joffrey’s remains himself, _my lady.”_

Disappointment floods in her eyes as her mouth drops open. “How could you? If there is a chance for peace how could you pass that up? Have you such disregard for your bannermen’s lives?”

Robb can’t stop his hand encircling Myrcella's tiny wrist to pull her near, “I don't want war. I've seen battle, I don't want to live it everyday, but it's coming, and you are a dreaming fool to think you could stop it. The only thing we can hope for is that we are on the right side. The winning side.”

He expects Myrcella to squirm away and storm off to brood all the while cursing his name, but that's not her way. Such depravities are foreign to her, instead her free hand comes to the side of his face. A gesture far too kind than what he deserves.

“May I send a letter with Ser Rodrick, then?”

Robb nods his answer. “You understand why it wouldn't be in your best interest to go, don't you?”

“No my lord, I don't understand.”

“Well you have to,” nothing will be left to the imagination. Robb moves to lock his solar door before speaking again. “Stannis is the rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms.” He hurries to see Myrcella's reaction, she is still, it is only her chest that moves to accommodate her shallow, panicked breaths.

“The line moves on to Tommen–”

“Tommen is a bastard, Joffrey was a bastard. Illegitimate heirs don't have a right to anything. Robert had no legal sons, but he has two brothers.”

Myrcella’s eyes burn into him as she takes a slow step forward. “Won't you say it?” Her voice is innocent yet all knowing. “Say it to me, King Robert didn't have any true sons or daughters.”

She had caught on faster than Robb had envisioned. As she prowls closer he recedes a step back only to bump into his desk. “Aye, no royal sons or daughters.” He murmurs softly against the thickened air.

“I'm a bastard.” She closes in on him, hands framing either side of his face. “You married a bastard.”

“Knowingly,” he doesn't dare look away from those sharp, unyielding eyes. “I love a bastard.”

Robb aches to kiss the tremble from her lips, but he's frozen in place, stuck on watching her. Waiting for what she has to say next.

“You can't mean mean that.” Her voice shakes and her hands wither away, sliding down his chest to his waist until they drop back to her sides. “My status is my worth. It is who I am.”

“Myrcella, that's an awful thing to believe,” in fact, Robb is sure that must be a lie. She wasn't her title, she's better than her title. She's pure goodness and beauty. There is something powerful about her vulnerability and courage, she is still a doe with the strength of a lion.

“It's not what I believe, it's what I am. I'm what now, Myrcella Waters? Sand? I don't even know.”

Robb shakes his head in disbelief. “You're a Stark, now and always.” That's all that matters, when the Lannister’s are revealed of what they are people must remember Myrcella is a Stark.

She hugs in her elbows with eyes clung to the floor. “Not lady Stark. Your mother and your sisters are the only Ladies in Winterfell.” White tears collapse from her eyes and all Robb can do is hold her up. Take her sides and set her atop his desk so her eyes can be on him instead of the ground.

“You are worthy of being a lady. Your validation doesn't come from something you cannot control. My brother, Jon, is a bastard and he's a better swordsman than I. He's a better man even. If the ones that I love and look up to is bastard, then so be it, I don't mind so long as you both are in my life.”

In the middle of winter, Myrcella is the sun. Robb loves the sun. “You're no less than any other noble woman. To me, you're better.”

Myrcella huffs a weak laugh. “I'm a product of incest.” All Robb can do is stare at her, mouth ajar. “I've had my own suspicions. There must be something wrong with me, there may be something wrong with our future children.”

He grabs her face, fingertips skimming over the soft apple of her cheek. “You look very normal to me, and I think I look quite normal. We’ll be fine.”

“My uncle is a dwarf. If I have a boy and he's a dwarf will the north follow him? Respect him? Die for him if need be?”

Robb doesn't know. That is all too far into the future for him to fathom the possibility. “We’ll deal with all that if the time ever comes. Right now I have to think about my father and sisters” Sansa and Arya should come home before Robb sends back news of Joffrey.

“What about my mother and Tommen?”

“My father won't have a mother and her child harmed–”

“But he'd have them exiled? Shamed?”

Most likely, either way Robb shrugs. “It depends how much of a fight your mother puts up.”

“It won't just be my mother, my uncles, my grandfather, none of them bet against a Lannister. The lion does not only come with pride, but with loyalty to their own as well.”

As does any family. Robb huffs a strained sigh as Myrcella curves her fingers around the nape of his neck, digging in just enough to feel knots of tension unwind. “If I get to see my family I could make things better. I swear it.

Robb foolishly leans into her grasp. “We go to King’s Landing together then, with the bones. I will speak to my father and you your mother. I'd rather be there to sort this mess out in person than through damn ravens. I'm tired of ravens.”

Myrcella perks up with a smile on her lips upon hearing the compromise. “When we travel back we can take Sansa and Arya along with us.”

“Aye, my mother will be happy to hear that…” and struck sick when she hears of him leaving. “Bran and Rickon will leave Winterfell strong with two Starks. Rodrick and Theon will join us on the road, I don't want our travel party too big but we need enough so we are left alone by bandits.”

“May we take Gendry?” The name throws Robb off guard. Gendry, the apprentice blacksmith. A bastard of true king’s blood. “He's become a friend of mine and I know he loathes these summer snows. He'd like a visit back to his home, even if that home is Fleabottom.”

Gendry may be even less safe in King’s Landing than Myrcella. “No, a small group of four will do nicely. It's non threatening, yet it’s enough to fight off looming dangers of travel.”

Myrcella raises an interested brow. “And five is too much.”

Robb is through with anymore compromises. “Aye. Too many. Make your preparations for the road as I will do the same… I have to go speak with my mother…”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the south now, y'all

The bells dawned up and down the city streets upon their arrival. The road had been as kind as the blaring heat is now. Myrcella never recalled being so affected by the southern climate. She feels perspiration wet her forehead and suddenly she is concerned with her hair, her dress, her skin.

The cotton wrap dress she wears is far too simple and not near airy enough for the rare breeze she feels up on her horse. She catches Robb looking back over his shoulder to her as they head for the Keep’s gates.

Myrcella sets the thick curtain of her hair over to one shoulder to let her neck breathe. “You're glowing.” Robb mentions, and the way the sun hits him makes his eyes sparkle a deep turquoise sea.

Never has she noticed his eyes with tinges of green, it must be the southron light. “The south suits you.”

His eyebrows raise, “does it? I feel like I'm melting.”

“Yes,” they meet up side by side, as close as their horses would allow and Myrcella brushes a hand over his stubbled cheek. “You look like a trout.”

He snorts, “I'll need to be swimming like one soon if I want to survive this heat.”

Myrcella’s mouth goes dry at the thought. They'd made quick work of the King’s road in a fortnight, but all of the travel and all of the… Theon… Myrcella is more than ready for some time to herself… and her husband.

But before privacy, Myrcella gets to see lovely little Tommen and her mother. A sight she had been aching for for ages it seems. Even under the circumstances, she is eager to get back to her childhood home.

Everyone, Rodrick, Theon, Robb, and Myrcella had all spoken before of how they were to act upon arrival. At the tavern down the road they had changed into their fresh clothes for the day, the four of them all black in mourning. Nothing drastic has been said or done, so in turn they will say nor do anything to stir the delicate state the throne is in until Robb and his father speak.

“I hear the brothels are good here, the best in Westeros,” she hears Theon say to anyone that would listen. Ser Rodrick has more than once shown his dislike for the Winterfell ward and Myrcella quite agrees with his assessment, but Robb loves him for some unbenounced reason.

“Theon, don't.” Robb warns, “this isn't some summer galavant we’re taking. You go wandering around and we may never be able to get you out of the trouble you always seem to find.”

Oddly, Myrcella frowns at her husband’s words. Like always there is logic to them, but in many ways she does wish for this trip to be a summer dream. Just seeing Robb here, riding down the cobble stone of her old home brings something into the air.

Robb is beautiful in the snow, but in the sun he shines. His hair more vibrant than ever before, the soft pink in his skin that isn't from the cold for once. Much like his sister, Sansa, the southron atmosphere very much agrees with him.

All too quickly they are trotting up to the opening gate and the welcoming party is smaller than she expected. No? There is a sizable crowd, but the two faces she searched for aren't there.

“Uncle,” she glistens, hopping down her mount to greet Tyrion, the only family that thought to see her, but once she hits the ground she realizes that is probably for the better. She needs a bath and new clothes, already the road has made her dusty. Her hair could use a fresh style as well, one that keeps her waves up.

“Off from the road and still a vision.” He pats her back as she bends for an embrace and Myrcella gives him smile when they part. “How were things at Winterfell after I left?” He asks seriously, after all when he left she was not in the highest of spirits.

“Everything is great, truthfully. Much, much better.”

“I'm glad to hear it.”

Myrcella bites in her smile, concerned of what her uncle may have told her mother. “I really am happy in Winterfell.” She says quickly to squash any unsavory suspicion he may have of Robb and his family.

But he still holds that coy stare. “Happy despite what befell Joffrey?”

Myrcella shuts her eyes in anguish. She regrets Joffrey not being able to live long enough to overcome his demons, but some evil bone in her body allows herself not to miss him. He was needlessly cruel to everyone he met.

Myrcella swallows down her nerves and bows her head. “I pray Joffrey has found peace now. I know in life he did not, but in death perhaps the gods have given him a second chance.”

Tyrion nods, “you've done some growing. You're less the girl I left and now a lady.”

A bastard, but Myrcella smiles all the same. That's what King’s Landing is. Blank stares and fake smiles. “Where's my mother? Tommen?” She looks around one last time. Still they are no where to be seen.

“The sept.” Tyrion answers. “She is now a godly woman it seems.”

Myrcella doesn't believe that, but the sept must be a quiet place for her to grieve. Mama loved Joff. He was the favorite.

“Don't disheart. She has been wringing her hands together anxiously to see you again.”

It does not feel like it. Soon Robb is at her side, hand on her waist. He nods to tyrion for a moment before turning back to her. “My father has had the guest tower prepared for us.”

“Of course, see you uncle.” She bids and follows their party into the keep.

It's not as she remembers it. The halls are darker but stag banners still loft around every corner. Myrcella’s chest tightens, wondering when she will come to meet her Uncle Stannis. How will he look at her? Will he renounce her as a niece though she has been that to him her whole life? It would be easy for him to do, he's not a man of much feeling.

At their rooms-- it's strange. Myrcella in the guest quarters of her childhood home. She never would've imagined staying here. Lord Eddard opens the door and when Myrcella crosses his path to enter he gives her a nod of acknowledgement. She shares the sentiment and as the room comes into view she is pleased to find a tub drawn and waiting for an occupant.

Robb lingers at the door, Myrcella splashes her fingers idly in the water until she hears the cease of hushed voices and the door closing.

“Your mother is at the Great Sept of Baelor?” Myrcella nods her answer. “I thought she'd want to see you. You're sure she doesn't see you as a traitor?”

Robb's worry comes off as a slight but Myrcella shrugs it away. He did not mean for it to hurt the way that it did. “She's my mother.” Myrcella’s fingers dance on the surface of the steaming bath, “and I'm not a traitor. I am working for the interests of both my families lest you forget.”

“I haven't forgotten.” He says just as fierce. “Right now it's my duty to be paranoid. We are risking a lot just by being here.” Suddenly her wrist is being pulled from the water and Myrcella is turned to face her husband. “It seems I have to worry for the both of us. I know this is where you grew up, but it's not safe now.”

“If it was safe for me as an ignorant little girl it's safe for me now. My mother loves me and when she sees how much I love you she won't even think about hurting us.” From when she was twelve Myrcella has known not to let the troubles of court seep into your mind, it would drive anyone mad.

Robb relents and releases her hand. “I will worry for the both of us. You're welcome.”

Myrcella ignores his jest and begins to work at the top facet on his jerkin. He catches her hands, “what do you think you're doing?” He asks bewildered even though it's obvious.

“Undressing you, I want to take a bath and I also want to be with you, so why not both?” She shrugs and tries to resume her work only to be stopped again.

“I have a meeting waiting for me in the tower of the Hand.”

“Then show up late and clean rather than on time and dirty.”

He huffs a laugh, “stop making this so hard, Jory is right outside our door waiting for me. He’ll hear everything.”

Sighing, Myrcella let's him go. He kisses the side of her head before leaving for his father’s meeting. Myrcella wastes no time in stripping herself down and sinking low into the tub. For more minutes than she can count she lays, temptation arising in her to slip her own hand between her legs.

With a strangled, frustrated huff she sits up, scrubs her body clean, dries herself, and struggles to lace up the dress that was laid out for her. It's black with hanging bell sleeves, cut just like the gowns her mother would wear, now Myrcella is old enough to dawn them as well.

Out in the halls it is strange to not be accompanied by a septa at all times, now she keeps northern guards as company. She had planned to head for the sept but once at the doors, they open from the other side.

“Mama!” Myrcella nearly shouts and runs to her mother's arms. She looked stoically fierce in her well worn grief, but once Myrcella feels her arms melt back around her she knows her mother had softened and let go of that menacing veil.

“Myrcella,” Cersei holds her an arms length away to look her form from head to heel.

Beauty has always been important to her, Myrcella hopes the rush she went through to get ready is not terribly noticeable.

Cersei cradles her cheeks within her hands, “how are you my sweet?”

“Fine– I'm just fine.”

“I couldn't be at the gate for you, darling. I couldn't be in front of the whole city when they gave over your brother’s bones.” It's rare weakness Myrcella sees in her mother and she wishes she could've come sooner, written more, done more for her.

“I never wanted him to go. Him, you, now they'll want to tear Tommen from my arms, they won't stop until I have nothing left.”

Myrcella swallows and grabs her mother's hands, “I’m here, I haven't left you.”

The fear in Cersei’s face calms into a loving gaze as she brushes her slim fingers through Myrcella’s waves. “You've came back quite a lioness, you've grown so well my strong girl.”

Not near as strong as the woman who made her, “Will you come to the dinner tonight? Robb will be there and I'd like for you to meet him properly.”

To Myrcella’s inevitable dismay, her mother's eyes darken. “He's good mama, good to me and his people.”

“He's not us,” she bites back, “he has his own interests at heart which is why he's so good to you my beautiful girl.”

If only Myrcella could say that it was she who wanted to take advantage of her husband’s body earlier today. Though, Cersei wouldn't be so impressed since Myrcella failed to get the duty bound Stark to bend to her whim. “It's not like that,” Myrcella laments eventually. “If he didn't care about me or you or Tommen we wouldn't be here.”

Cersei’s eyes screamed ‘fool’. “What about Joffrey? How did he feel about him before he died.”

Myrcella bit in her bottom lip at the subtle anguish in the way her mother said her brother’s name. “He had hope for Joffrey as we all did. Don't forget Robb offered him hospitality while he was on the road to his foster house.”

“Hospitality that got him killed.”

“Do not blame Robb for what was Joff’s own fault, please mother. Bran’s legs were shredded bloody by Joffrey’s hands. Had he not been stopped Bran would have died and Joff knew. He wanted Bran dead, I don't know why. I can't begin to understand, but Joffrey always played with the lives of others. You know it, mother.”

“Still, it's worth a trial. When your grandfather gets here it will begin.”

“Trial? So many in Winterfell saw the truth, no trial is needed.”

“So a simpleton is allowed to live on while your brother’s bones collect dust in the crypts.”

Myrcella sighs, she can't possibly be asking for Bran to travel all the way down to act as witness. Myrcella hangs her head. “May we at least not speak of this until after the funeral…”

A gentle kiss on her forehead is Myrcella's answer. “I will be at dinner with Tommen tonight, sweetling. Don't worry a hair on your head.” And like that her warmth disappeared along with her down the hall, her lannister guard following close behind. Cautiously, Myrcella looks back to her own northern guards at her back and wonders what her mother must've made of them in her mind.

Perhaps Robb was right, Myrcella is a traitor. She certainly would look like one to her mother. Heading back to the guest tower, she notices Jory standing in the hall of her and Robb’s quarters. Quickly, she slips inside happy to see his meeting is over and done with and he's relaxing in a fresh bath of his own.

She kicks her boots off, “gods yes Robb, get out– or stay there. I'll come to you.” Fingers tangle against the facets of her gown. Robb’s mouth falls ajar in shock as wide eyes blink in disbelief. _Yes_ , she agrees she can't quite believe she's acting this way either, but she is.

“If you don't want another bath I can get out–”

“Stay,” she urges, getting wet is not the problem. Peeling her loosened clothes away, Myrcella looks down at her body dissatisfied. The rigid boning in her corset had embedded ugly red lines on her torso, her breasts. She knew she felt pain, but corsets are supposed to be tight.

Looking back to Robb, he didn't seem to notice. “Please don't just stand there.” His eyes beckon her forward.

Slipping in the water she hums at its greeting warmth and straddles Robb so she can press her chest to his. The feel of his heart, his wet warm skin on hers, it makes her melt into him. “this is all I craved for all day.” She breathes the words into his shoulder, loving the way his hand comes up to rest on her back. Under the water she feels he is half hard, but she wants one more moment of this. Of peace and love.

The hand over her back lowers to cup her bottom and the motion has her teeth piercing her bottom lip. “What's gotten into you?” He asks, “is this what the warm weather does to you?”

“If it were the heat I wouldn't have come to you maid,” she says, remembering the innocent girl she used to be. “I just want you, does there have to be a reason?”

“No,” he answers simply as he pushes her away slightly to look at her, hand climbing to cradle the swell of her breast and she thinks her stomach melts at the contact. “Ouch…” he whispers and thumbs over the redden line of where her corset used to be.

And then he kisses the spot. “Don't wear that thing if it hurts you.”

“It doesn't hurt me, I just–”

“Grew,” Robb supplies an answer Myrcella had not thought of. He playfully kneads her flesh and Myrcella rocks into the touch.

“Possibly.”

“No, you definitely have. Your…”

She is one sly comment away from slapping him. After all, what is love without a little sting. “Yes Robb, my breasts. I get it.”

“Not that you weren't perfect before. Now it's just a different kind of perfect. You are not the little gangly fawn that I met on our wedding night.”

“You're not the same either.” Myrcella chastises though Robb has grown even more savory as time goes on. A girlish smile overtakes her as she feels the ridges of his muscled stomach, and best of all he doesn't lunge to take her wrists to stop her.

His eyes go cloudy with lust as she takes his hardness in hand. She is not entirely familiar with this part yet, but she's been curious about it for so long.

A broken groan leaves his lips at the same time he sits up from the tub’s ledge, strong hands gripping Myrcella’s bottom so rough she can already feel how sore she will be tomorrow.

“Please not so tight,” he grits and like dawn has broken over her, Myrcella eases her fist on him.

“I'm sorry.” It's just so _hard_.

He shakes his head like it was nothing, “it's fine, I trust you not to intentionally harm me like that.”

Myrcella laughs, enjoying the exploration of the moment. It delighted her to see how she pleases him. Usually she is in the throes of passion along side him, but now she can watch him. Eyes lidded and full mouth parted, Myrcella likes this expression on him. It's a look she can feel all the way down to her toes.

“You're teasing me,” he murmurs with a grin.

“You do it to me all the time.” She retorts quick as a whip. “Will you let me tease you just this once.”

“This once, and whenever you want.” For some unbenounced reason, that shocks her.

What shocks her even more is how bad she is at this game. Her patience had worn well out and she blames it on the way Robb looks at her with those dark eyes. Shifting on her knees to get comfortable, she guides him to her entrance and slowly eases down. She stays there a few labored breaths and then smiles when she feels his hands grip tight around her hips.

He said he'd let her tease him, but his instinct would never allow that for too long. He wills her hips to move in a smooth rhythm that's not too fast nor is it too slow.

It's a perfect build up to a perfect climax and and it sends Myrcella off with a cry of his name and her hands clench all too tightly in his damp auburn curls.

She comes down with a pant and eases her fingers loose from their vice grip and she doesn't have time to breath before he messily kisses her in the heat of his own peak.

A clash of teeth and tongues, uncontrolled by their joining motion. Myrcella scrapes her dull white teeth along his jaw before rising up again and finding his lips to suck on.

Perhaps it is the heat of King’s Landing that does this to her. There's no need to hide under furs to keep comfortable from the climate. The balcony shutters are open and she can feel a hot summer breeze roll over her naked skin and hear the chirps of delicate birds outside.

Robb hugs her tightly to his chest and she knows he wants to stay here, just like this, forever. “That was a first, was it not?”

Myrcella nods. “I think you very well know it was.”

“We will need bigger tubs in Winterfell now, I think.”

That earned him a small laugh. Myrcella leans up with her arms wrapping around his neck. “We should go out one day, I want to see you on the beach, in the gardens, I want to see you in color.”

His eyebrows and smile drop, “you don't see me in color in Winterfell?”

“I see you by the red weirwood, the grey walls, and the white snow. Don't worry you're still perfect in Winterfell, but here it's a different kind of perfect.” She plays on his earlier sentiments about her and his smile picks right back up.

“Remember when I told Theon this was not some flowery trip to the south?” He says in a mock warning tone and Myrcella rolls her eyes at him.

“We are fine. The only thing we have to do is make our parents see eye to eye. No one is out to hurt us.”

“I hope you're right, sweet girl.”

“I know I'm right, this was once my home Robb Stark.” Suddenly Myrcella clasps her hands over his eyes.

“What–?”

“No, don't look. I'm getting out.” She teases and rises to step out one foot at a time then bends over to surprise him with an upside down, blind kiss.

“I don't understand why I can't look at you,” he says lamely.

“Because I don't want you to right now. Let me put my robe on before you turn around, please.”

“No promises.” He grumbles.

One more kiss on his forehead before she turns back to grab her robe and flutter it on over herself. On her hip bone she notices the red hand marks he had left behind on her. Had she been a little girl she would've shrieked at the sight, now she loves the temporary brand. The reminder of Robb so visible on her skin, it's romantic in a devilish way.

Eventually, she covers the front of her body and ties the sash of her robe to hold the silk in place. “We should get ready for dinner."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idk how I wrote this so fast, but I did and now I hope that it's not ungodly bad lol
> 
> OH and I didn't forget about Sansa and Arya, they'll be there next chapter (finally)


	12. Chapter 12

King’s Landing. A pit of vipers.

Robb had to keep reminding himself that because everything else felt so perfect.

Stannis Baratheon was on leave to Storm’s End, Robb assumes with the intention to take ownership of it with Renly in the Reach, and the dinner in court is not going as disastrous as he had thought it would.

He's even met Cersei Lannister and survived. She did not look at him kindly, he never expected she would, but he drank his wine and was still able to breath afterward so she is taking his presence rather well.

The night began tense, Robb could feel it in his shoulders, his spine, but now self admittedly in his cups with his wife beside him along with his sisters everything feels like it will stay put together just one night more.

One night more, and if he's lucky, every night after.

Not everything will be perfect, he knows. Cersei will not take her punishment with grace when all is revealed and Stannis finally claims the throne, but Robb knows that bump in the road will pass and at the end of it he will still love his wife and have his family in Winterfell and perhaps start his own.

He looks at her now, with his arm over her shoulders she is letting Tommen lay his head in her lap as she strokes his fine gold hair. It's a beautiful sight that sets a pain in his chest to have a babe of their own.

Half drunk, he is not sound enough to make such a feeling known, but he feels it in his bones. He wants a child– children. He wants a big family filled with boys and girls and he wants to be there to teach them how to ride horses and read and fight and he wants to do it all with Myrcella.

She looks up at him now with bright eyes as if she knows his thoughts, but she doesn't. “He’s asleep.” She says with a small smile.

Robb can only nod and lean down to kiss those rose lips of hers. Honeysuckle sweet in the night air.

“That was…” she trails off, her brows ruffling together. “very nice.”

He can't help but smile and prop his forehead on top of her lavender smelling hair. “I want babies,” he decides to say, despite his plans to wait. “I want them now and with you.” He demands in her ear.

She turns as to not disturb Tommen too much in her lap, but enough so she can look directly at him. “You're drunk.”

“I know and I don't care.” He wants them. He won't wake up regretting telling her, he's ready. “What about you?” He asks, because he could never forget her.

She laughs a bit nervously, her eyes dropping back down to Tommen. “I still think…. later…” her head is down but he can still see her bite in her lip. “I'm an awful woman for saying that, aren't I?”

No, Robb thinks. She's a woman that knows what she wants. Still, a dark thought crosses his mind and she doesn't tell so he asks. “You're not taking moon tea, are you?”

Her eyes dart around, like she's worried someone would hear. “No, no I never would. I don't even know how to obtain it.”

_Good_ , relief befalls him as the background clamor and chatter in the dining hall waft back into focus. Then he wonders how long must it take? They haven't been actively trying for a child but… they haven't been not trying… suppose it is all the same.

Robb clings to the warm body next to him. “Are you tired yet?”

“You should see the way my mother is looking at you.”

He does. Venom slitted green eyes and still he presses closer. “Fuck your mother.”

An elbow in the ribs and still it was worth saying aloud. “Robb, be kind or leave.” Myrcella is scolding him as if he’s not acting Lord of Winterfell and isn't responsible for either stopping or causing war.

“I'm not leaving without you.”

“You're not proving my mother’s opinion of you wrong.”

Robb huffs his indifference. “I'm not being inappropriate, you're my lover.” Has he ever called her that? Lover? Somehow it felt foreign on his lips.

A self depreciating laugh takes over her, “I'm not that to you, according to my mother.”

Robb wraps his arms around her to slide her closer to him on the bench, feeling the tight cinche of her waist as he looks to Cersei Lannister. “What are you to me then?” He guesses, “lover, best friend, my worst enemy?”

“The last one,” she answers. “I'm a lion, you're a wolf. This is how my mother thinks. Anyone without the Lannister name is an enemy.”

Which is why she fucks her brother. “She’s hatful.”

“She protects what is her’s” there is a sense of admiration in Myrcella’s voice. Robb wonders if he should be worried. All primped and primed by southron handmaidens, Myrcella is a bright gold picture of her mother.

“You are all lioness, aren't you?” Robert had just as much of a hand in raising her as he did in making her. “Well, if you're my worst enemy then you know I won't let you get away.”

_Lover, best friend, worst enemy_ , and Robb is tied up into all of them. “It really hurts how much I love you.” He says and knows that if Arya heard him talk like this she'd be gagging up her dinner.

But Myrcella doesn't mock him, her hand reaches back for his thigh and it is the most gentle touch– as a man he feels powerless against such a soft gesture. “Want to go for a walk in the gardens?”

She wakes Tommen with a rub on the shoulder and a whisper in his ear. Eventually, the boy nods and knuckles at his eyes to wake. He sits up, hugs his sister and finally marches off to his silent, seething mother.

The moon had cooled the dusty ramparts of the Red Keep, it was a relief to escape the stuffy court. Everyone had been in mock mourning, side from the false dowager queen, in a room of lies and shallow condolences Robb felt refreshed to be out in the gardens, the one spot where the city's stench could not touch.

Arm in arm with his beloved on a night so clear, he'd almost think the gods have blessed him, everything is so peaceful.

“See? Isn't it nice to be outside without a thick layer of sable over your shoulders?”

Aye, there is no burden that lays over him here it feels like. “But don't you already miss the snow and how it would float in the air like time itself had stopped?” Robb loved his home. He is not a worldly man, but he's sure Winterfell is all he needs and it's all he wants.

“Yes,” Myrcella says softly while tucking a hanging tress of hair behind her ear. “How can I be homesick for Winterfell so fast when I had been homesick for here in Winterfell for so long? Am I not content with just– Robb.”

“What?”

“Stop,” she means to be serious but there's a glimmering tease in her eyes. “Your hand, my lord.”

She is being more strict than a celibate septa, his hand had dropped from her waist to the small of her back, _gods forbid_. Robb looks around, they are deep within the tall hedges of the gardens. “We’re alone, what's the trouble?”

“That's it,” she remarks in a whisper, “the tantalizing fact that we are alone and your touch burns through my dress. Please Robb, if you had an ounce of mercy in you, you'd stop.”

Breath caught in his throat, he stares speechless for a moment. He sees it now, the darkness taking over her green eyes, her teeth tugging on her lower lip. Something is definitely in the air for Myrcella as of late.

“Remember, you are my worst enemy.” He says as an answer and immediately she takes advantage of him before he could her. Slight little fingers with a surprising power secure themselves in his hair so she could pull herself up and meet his lips.

She's giddy and eager, even when Robb stumbles forward and crashes her against a rustling hedge, she giggles and Robb joins her laughter trying to untangle her hair from the winding vines behind her.

“You're disappearing into the brush,” but looking down at her now he doesn't mind. Her blood rushed lips bright like a rose around a wreath of lush gold and greenery. She's a vision like nothing he's ever seen, and she is his. Perhaps she's right and he can wait for a baby, right now all he needs and wants is her.

Myrcella graces him with a smile, her hand coming to caress his rough cheek. “What is it?”

“I just–” Robb shakes his head, he's drunk and he feels too much to put it all into words, and he'd make a fool of himself if he tried. “You were right, it is nice to not be so covered.” He recovers his pause, running a knuckle over her silk skin strewn over her collarbone. She, like every other lady, is in mourning. Black is not a happy color, but on Myrcella it's as lovely as any other dress. It even leaves the edges of her shoulders bare.

Robb bends to kiss the rare exposed skin, and she holds him there while a rogue hand of his own roams down between her legs and even through skirts and small clothes, she cants her hips.

Nothing makes his blood run hotter. His wife clinging to him, indecently rubbing herself with his own hand and the noises she makes between breaths– it gives a blinding satisfaction to be used in such a way.

He all but growls taking her and laying her in the damp grass. He hovers over her, “one would think that I've deprived you.” He's not really complaining, he'd only wanted to see the pink flush rise in her cheeks and chest. If he could, he’d wish to have her before and after dinner every night.

She bites her lip raising her hips to meet with his. Robb humors her, pinning her down, hands over her head. “Robb,” she moans his name out wickedly enticing him to take her, but still there is too much clothes in the way.

And as foggy as his mind may be he knows well enough not to undress in the capital’s gardens, but he can't leave his wife writhing helpless on the ground calling his name for some satisfaction.

Crawling back, he tosses the hem of her skirts overhead gliding his hands up black stockings, over the garter belts until he's met with soft heated skin of her thighs. He kisses once over her smallclothes, breath catching once he feels her arousal through the fabric.

“Gods,” he exhales while bringing her undergarment to the side to meet with her slick pink flesh. Her reaction is immediate. Restless legs come to wrap themselves around his body, his name is a jagged whisper on her lips and the catch of her stockings against his clothes makes him hum against her squirming hips.

“Fuck,” she whines so he must really be doing something right because she's never once uttered that word in his presence. Soon she dilapidates into an endless whimper of his name and it is all the encouragement he needs (if any).

Just as he moves to grab the flesh of her hip to still her, her leg hikes up and all Robb can feel is the sharp connection between his chest and her heeled boot.

He groans at the unexpected pain trying to grab her leg, but she keeps kicking until she lands a particularly forceful hit to his shoulder that sends him back and away until he's out of her dress and laying puzzled in the grass. “Why?” He curses with his hand clamoring to his undoubtedly bruised shoulder.

And then he's pulled into shadow, above he looks to see Cersei Lannister blocking all of the moonlight. She sneers at him, mouth crushed into some vicious tooth grinding smile.

“Mama,” Myrcella cries, she's violently blushing red, her knees pulled conservatively to her chest.

“To me, Myrcella,” Cersei hisses the command. Horror will not leave Myrcella’s eyes as she scampers up to her feet to follow command.

Cersei takes her Daughter’s arm in an iron grip to drag her away.

Quickly, Robb wipes the arousal from his mouth and stumbles up to catch Myrcella’s other arm to stop them.

He almost regrets doing so when Cersei whips back with a menacing glare… _almost_. “She’s my wife.” He says trying desperately not to sound like a boy arguing in the yard that it was his turn to spar. He clears his throat and straightens. “It's not your place to tell her what to do.”

He said it all before he heard the chinking armor of Ser Jaime Lannister. Now he only waits for the soiled knight to unsheathed his sword and split him in two, but before that Robb endures the sting of Cersei’s palm across his cheek.

“I'm her mother,” she wraps her arms like prison bars around Myrcella, “I am the only one in this world that cares to protect her from all that wish to hurt and use her.” She's a lioness guarding her own against what she believes is an enemy when Robb is the furthest from that.

“You weren’t there lady of Lannister but I cloaked Myrcella, pulled her into my protection and my house and you have no right to steal her away.”

“Steal her away.” Cersei raises a pointed brow as she repeats the words, somehow making them sound like a threat.

“Mother, Robb,” Myrcella cries between them, “please stop.”

But cersei ignores her, “my _only_ daughter was taken from me.” She seethes right before turning away, daughter in hand.

Robb has half a mind to go after her again until he sees Jaime stay behind with a warning glare, hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

Robb huffs and huffs until he decides to turn away, heading back to the keep. If Cersei requires a moment with Myrcella, _fine_ , he can't keep her from her mother forever.

•••

Just outside the main hall, Robb snickers to himself as he sees Arya sitting on the floor with an orange cat in her lap. “That thing is about the size of you.”

“He's fat…. and easy to catch.” She smirks, arms shaking holding the thing up. Robb kneels down to pet between its ears. Oddly, it pains his heart doing so, he misses Grey Wind. He fought himself on whether to bring him or not. Even though Lady and Nymeria do fine for themselves here, Robb still does not think the south is a place for a direwolf.

“Tommen loves these cats.” Arya says while staring into its yellow eyes. “I tell him he'd be happier marrying one of them instead of me.”

It's sad, but true. “You have many many years left before you marry… there's even enough time for the engagement to be broken.”

“You think?” Arya asks, wildly excited and then she dips her head down in shame. “I mean, I don't want Tommen to die like Joffrey… he's not a total twat, but I don't like him either. He's soft Robb…. so soft he should be a girl.”

Tommen is weak but kind, and even though it is leagues better than selfish and cruel Robb is still dying to tell her their match will most likely dissolve once Stannis and father set things right.

“Tommen may grow out of it.” Is all he can offer his sister for now.

Arya shrugs and returns her attention to the cat. He seems to have lost his touch when dealing with his sisters. Earlier he tried to console Sansa, but she would not hear him, after all she had lost her beloved prince… she is just intolerable at the moment.

“When you leave, will I be able to go back home with you and Myrcella?”

_Yes_ , Robb wants to just tell her but it is not official yet. “I will try and convince father. Believe me, I want to take both you and Sansa home. Think of mother’s face when she sees you two.”

A warm smile passes on Arya’s lips. “Yes,” she hums holding the cat close. “I miss her. I miss everyone. How was Bran before you left?”

“He's as well as he could be. I'm not so much worried about his legs as I am for his morale… he's grown quite stoic and upset, rightfully so I suppose… I'd be pissed at the world if I couldn't walk too.”

“I'm pissed at the world and I still have my legs… I hate this dinner. I hate the clothes they make me wear. I hate how Nymeria has to be locked up, she's wild she needs to be free.”

Robb wonders why such a stubborn girl is putting up with all of this and then he remembers father. They're doing all they can to help him, as Hand he’s in charge of everything. Ned Stark knows the north, he does not know all the southern kingdoms.

“When you come home Nymeria can be free with her brothers and sister… you can be too.”

Arya smiles at that and Robb thinks he's finally helped his sister. “I saw Theon, he pretended not to know me but he spoke plenty to Sansa. She's been mourning for so long but now she's brightening up because of… Theon.”

Robb shares Arya’s grimace. “Greyjoy is an ass, I’m sure Sansa knows that and she's just being polite.”

“Hey, Robb.” Arya says looking up and the change of subject ruffles his brow. “Are you and Myrcella fighting?”

“What? No, why would you say that.”

Arya points a finger at his reddened cheek and he remembers the mark Cersei had left him. “Oh, no, no Myrcella did not do that.”

“I did not think she would, who did it?” Arya asks with excited interest and Robb stands to help his sister up with the cat in her hands.

“I did it,” he lies and tries to scoot her back into the dinner hall without her getting in another question.

As he opens the door and moves her in there's a pull on his jerkin holding him back.

His father sets a sturdy hand on his shoulder. “A docked ship with Lannister sails had just been unceremoniously sent off out to sea.”

Robb turns to look into his father’s grave eyes. “Myrcella?” It's the only thing he can think to ask.

“Aboard with her mother father and the boy.”

Robb feels an uneasiness in his stomach. “If they're going to the Rock then I’ll meet them there with an army.”

“Don't.” Ned warns with ice in his voice. “Don't be a fool to start a war over a personal slight. With her family you know Myrcella will be safe.”

“Not safe enough to come back to me!” Robb cannot even stand being held up in the keep doing nothing. “They're sailing all around Westeros to get to Casterly Rock, or they're going into hiding somewhere else! I can't lose her.”

“You won't. Cersei would never run into hiding, it's not her way.”

“Who told you that? The hundreds of southern spies you can't trust?”

His father’s lips rest into a tight, rigid line. “Those spies have gotten us this far.”

And for the first time Robb sees his father doesn't know what he's doing either. 


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Myrcella at her weakest/ Myrcella at her strongest

She searched and searched and no matter how far her hand crawled, all she was met with was unforgiving cold.

“Robb?” Myrcella aches as she mumbles his name, her stomach turning in on its side. “Oh,” her hand clentches over her abdomen and she _knows_ what its lurching to do.

Rolling off her featherbed a force sends her to the other end of her room, as she slams against the wall she opens her eyes to see she's not in her room at all. She felt cold because Robb was never with her.

She bursts out the door, breathless to see nothing but blue sky and ocean around her. The sway of the ship drives her into the side railing and her stomach finally gives way.

She jolts five steps back feeling someone grab her hair. Wide eyed, she stares at her uncle Jaime-- rather her father. “Oh…” she gathers her hair back over one shoulder attempting to right herself though she was just indisposed a second ago.

“Your mother would be happy to see you've woke.” He puts on some strange smile that doesn't reach his eyes.

“Where are we going?” All Myrcella can see on deck are men in Lannister armor. “Where's Robb?”

Jaime shifts his weight, “we’re going home to Casterly Rock.”

Casterly Rock has never once been her home. “But where's Robb? He's– I haven't seen him and I'm not feeling particularly well.” She feels as though she's slept for a thousand years, unable to think of what she had done last.

“He's not here. He stayed back in King’s Landing with his family.”

Myrcella points an enthusiastic finger to herself, “but I'm his family!” Oh gods, she clutches her abdomen again, the motion of the sea does not agree with her. “I need to go back,” she helplessly searches for land on the horizon but it's all water.

“Myrcella,” her name is warm on her mother’s lips as are her arms coming around her. “You should rest more, you're pale with sickness.”

“Mother,” Myrcella gathers the strength she can to speak her mind. “How did I happen upon this boat without my husband?”

“My sweet, you mumbled something about going home in your sleep, so we’re going home. You don't need to worry about being the wolf’s captive anymore.”

Myrcella’s head aches just as fiercely as her stomach does. “Oh mama, no, no, you've overreacted.”

Cersei stands aghast, as if Myrcella is out of line for suggesting such a thing. “You look dreadful. I think you should go back to bed and I'll bring you some tea. It'd be best for you to rest until we arrive in Lannisport, darling.” Cersei warmly cups Myrcella’s cheek, “For your own good.”

  
                         •••

She's torn her room to bits. The finest silk dresses strewn all over the floor, Myrcella doesn't care. She paces over them without a second thought of their condition or of their value.

Casterly Rock has been her prison for a week and in that time she hasn't received one letter from Robb nor has she been able to send one out to him. It's maddening being trapped by one’s own family. Myrcella messily wipe the frustrated tears from her hot cheeks.

In the time she's been away she has yet to have her moonblood when it should have came already. Myrcella halts her pacing and bites her lip while resting a hand over her still flat stomach.

It could be late she reasons, but she knows.

Her sea sickness never left her and she had been acting peculiar in the previous weeks. In a heap of gowns, she collapses with her head held in her hands. _What to do?_ Myrcella had not wanted a baby yet and certainly not in this circumstance.

Her door opens and she doesn't bother to look up, only the voice and the hand on her back tells her who it is. “You cannot cry forever.”

Myrcella shakes her head, her uncle Tyrion knows nothing. “Watch me.” Her problems go far beyond being trapped now. “My mother doesn't listen to me. It's like she pretends I don't exist when I tell her I need to go back.”

“Because that is not what she wants to hear. If you just-- you need to have patience and play it her way for a bit before you can make her think your leaving is in both your and her interests.”

Myrcella’s lip trembles to keep a sob at bay. She does not have time for all that. “Uncle, I must see Robb. Even if he is here, I don't care, but I need him. I honestly don't think I can go on another day without him.” She often thinks of him and where he is and what he is feeling.

Betrayed? Myrcella loathes to think that he would assume she had left him on her own accord. Cersei had given her essence of nightshade as a sedative to hoist her aboard without any fight. Myrcella is just meat for people to ship around and it's not right.Thinking that makes her tantrums feel more justified.

“Uncle, if I write a letter can you get it to him?” She's rustles up onto her knees to look into Tyrion’s mismatched eyes. “Please,” she pleads with her hands together, “he needs to know I did not leave him.” And her condition. She should tell him her suspicions of being with… _child_.

Tyrion pauses to think, Myrcella hopes that he understands that she would not put him in such a position if she was not so desperate.

“I can, but only if you urge him not to seize Casterly Rock.”

“Why would he do that?” Myrcella shakes her head, to rephrase her question, “I mean, he knows Casterly Rock is a great fortress. No fool would lay siege on it.”

“He's come to the gates with an escort of nearly fifty Northmen to get you, obviously your dear mother had not given him what he wanted. She did not even grant him audience.”

The air in her lungs escapes her, “Robb was here? Here under my nose and I had no idea!” Curse the grandeur of the Rock. “How long ago was this, tell me, please Uncle.”

Tyrion shifts uncomfortably on his feet. “Myrcella, your mother means well with what she is doing.”

Clutching her uncle’s hand, Myrcella urges, “she means to run me. Run me for my whole life, but I've been given away. I need to go back.”

“As much as I love to disappoint your mother, she is right in a way. You're safest here. Stannis, the dullard he is, is no less ruthless and I'm afraid he is after us Lannisters. I don't have happy memories of Casterly Rock, but here we are protected.”

Myrcella leans back onto her heels with a _humph_ , “I know I am not his true niece and I don't care. I'm of house Stark, though I don't look it, I am as will be my children after me.”

Tyrion somewhat grimaces at Myrcella. “The Stark boy has… told you,”

“—yes.” Myrcella interrupts. “But I suppose it is near common knowledge now. I went to King’s Landing to grieve and help my mother to safety during this whole… transition. Now, I only wish to go home. Winterfell is my home.” It officially hits her then. Winterfell is the only home she longs for.

A bittersweetness takes over and Myrcella cannot quite figure if she is going to cry or smile. Either way, she softens her harshness and Tyrion notices.

“There is an inn south of Lannisport and in Oxcross. Your husband could be at either one of those before traveling back– or planning his next move depending how angry he is, which I'd wager he is _very_ angry. Quick tempers and slow minds I’ve heard Littlefinger mutter about.”

Myrcella’s jaw drops at her uncle’s intention. “So you’ll take me. I can ride, uncle I won't need a carriage, even a discreet one wouldn't do, I'll wear a black hood and we can–”

“We won't be riding anywhere. You think we can hide a dwarf on a horse? No, Myrcella I have another way.

                         •••

Greywater has sodden her skirts up to the knee. The smell pulls her mouth into a permanent frown.

The city’s sewers was not the way she had imagined leaving. “I want to vomit.” She is nearly indisposed as she takes the final few steps to the light, her hand clenching at her stomach.

“You've made it, you're fine. We both are.” Tyrion huffs, he had to work a bit harder to match Myrcella's quick pace.

“Thank the gods.” She revels in a fresh breeze grazing her cheek before turning to her emerging uncle. “Despite my ill appearance, I am eternally grateful.” And her face cracks into a smile. It had been days since she last saw the sun. Even longer since she's had freedom.

“You know,” Myrcella begins as she feels Tyrion sidle up beside her, “I think I may be pregnant.”

It feels strange to say. To give that information to someone.

Tyrion takes a good, long look at Myrcella. Words apparently caught in his throat.

“And I don't think I want to be. Not yet anyway.” _Robb will be ecstatic_. That thought makes her happy, but the baby itself… Myrcella thinks of her grandmother Joanna. She never stops thinking about her actually.

She wants more time with Robb and Winterfell, if the baby takes her life, she would've liked more time.

“What will you do?” Tyrion asks, voice uncertain.

_I will have it_ , it takes a sort of strength for Myrcella to admit that to herself. “I will carry this baby for as long as I am able.” She smiles sadly to the setting sun. “And I know Robb will love it. He’s going to be so shocked. This is what he wanted and little did he know it had already happened…” little did _she_ know.

“Good, perhaps he will go home and stop bothering my sister, making her more miserable than she already is. Come on,” Tyrion softly urges her ahead. “And pull your hood up, gold hair is popular around here, but still. I can't have people seeing me with you.”

Myrcella does as he asks and raises a brow at what he could possible mean. If he can't be easily hidden, then she is playing the mysterious woman by his side…. a whore. “Uncle–”

“Not your uncle dear girl… right now I am not your uncle…”

Myrcella clears her throat. “Yes, right.” 


	14. Chapter 14

Every inn and tavern in Lannisport had been filled with blondes adorning gold and crimson. Myrcella’s uncle Tyrion hadn't dared to ask anyone if Stark bannermen happened to pass by, it would make their already odd pairing more suspicious.

Myrcella kept her black cloak on with the hood pulled securely over her head. She'd received countless sneers and back hand whispers from passer by's, even from some cousins she knew. She was looked down upon by every innkeep and spat on by a snickering kitchen boy.

Finally, she broke to tears when her cousin, Lancel Lannister, had flipped her a gold piece and marked her with slurs that had felt like a lashing. He was no kinder to Uncle Tyrion and rode off with a fury toward Casterly Rock.

Since then Myrcella and Tyrion had made way to Oxcross and only travelled at night, which brought an unwelcoming chill.

Feeling sick and helpless on the moonlit road, Myrcella leans forward to rest against her horse's mane. “We’ll soon be at Oxcross, see the smoke?” Tyrion points ahead and she sees the rising smoke of a town looming far in the distance.

“Uncle, what if Robb went all the way back to Winterfell? We can't go that long with my mother searching for us. It's impossible.”

Tyrion takes a drink from the crimson flask he is never without. “What’s impossible is for Robb to travel faster with a party of fifty rather than our party of two, and I'd bet a full purse that he wouldn't have gone back without you. No, he's found a place to bid his time while he gathers more men.”

Myrcella doesn't think so, but she's too tired to let that be known. Uncle Tyrion loves a debate while drunk. The sun is beginning to rise, and just in time. There'd be a place to bathe and sleep at in Oxcross. Finally.

In the tavern, Tyrion quietly stays down in the kitchens to refill is dwindling wine supply in his flask and Myrcella heads toward the room prepared for them with a bath. She takes a quick dip, not lingering to relax but just to get clean. Slipping back into her shift she crawls into bed and collapses in the center, snuggling up into the blanket and feels her muscles ache and her stomach turn.

But nothing hurts as much as sleeping alone. The warmth she had once shared with Robb in bed is a distant memory now. She can recall on rare occasions she'd wake before him with his back turned toward her and she would trace over the expanse of his shoulders and down the length of his spine. Other times, or most times, he'd wake before her and she'd have to be disturbed awake with strong arms around her and kisses tickling her neck.

She remembers all of these instances, but the weight of him beside her is gone. The furs brushing against her skin are cold and she cannot replicate that warm feeling with him gone. She doesn't think she can go on another night of riding aimlessly, tavern to tavern.

Defeat lingers over her tired body, she would sooner lay on this bed for years than travel the road with the risk of being caught or worse, the risk of another day of failure. Of another Robb-less night.

Light floods the room and leaves it just as fast when Tyrion enters, opening and closing the door behind him. “I did not see any Stark banners in the common hall.” He informs to Myrcella’s all too knowing dread.

“Where will we go now?”

“Do not disheart, Myrcella.” Tyrion perks, he is drunk is gearing to stay up. The curtains are pulled to keep the rising sun away, so he lights candles and sidles up on his featherbed with a heavy bound book. “This is not the only tavern in Oxcross. He can be at any number of them. Again, he can be a hop, skip, or leap away.”

Myrcella grimaces a smile, Tyrion wouldn't know the difference in the dim light. “See?” He cheers like she had been genuinely relieved. “He could be down the road. We don't know. Also, hardly any Lannisters here. Thank the gods, if I see another head of blonde hair I'd renounce my own name and take the black just so they'd use their famed black dye to turn my hair.” Tyrion lazily chuckles at his own ridiculousness.   
  
“Kidding, I'd never go celibate. Do you need wine? Everything’s better with some wine.”

Myrcella sighs deeply and shakes her head. She did not have a taste for wine, she did not have a taste for food.

She had a taste for home, her husband, her familiar life of routine at Winterfell where she had friends and fellowship with everyone around.

“Lancel knew who I was.” She forces her voice to be lifeless as she says the words, lest she give too much emotion and start crying. “He knew my mother was searching for you and me and still he spoke to me like that.”

Being treated like a whore is no easy thing to take. Nobody should be treated the way Myrcella has been for the past week. She hardly feels the same person. Hurtful words have stripped her bare of who she was.

Myrcella glares at her black cloak lying limply on the floor. If it is now known Myrcella is traveling with Tyrion Lannister then she might as well be herself.

Would anyone be kinder to a bastard? _Whore, bastard_ , it's all the same thing in the eyes of the gods. What will happen when her belly starts to show and she has no husband on her arm to protect her from all of the foul things people will do to her and her child.

Myrcella slept the day away in a dreadful blur. Comfortable sleep never came to her in these days of travel. She wakes in the room alone, heading to the curtains she pulls them apart to see the setting sun.

Tyrion should be here if they're to leave for the road on time. For hours Myrcella waits for Tyrion to return to his flask still laying on his bed, but darkness takes hold of the sky and he is still gone with no signs of returning.

A knock comes at the door and it is sharp, a woman hollering for Myrcella to get out. Quickly, she scoops her cloak and ties it tight around her neck with the hood up. As soon as she opens the door the tavern maid yanks her clothes hard to throw her out into the hall. She mutters something vile and Myrcella all but runs out before she can hear it all.

It looks like Uncle Tyrion won't be getting his flask back.

A shock runs Myrcella’s blood cold when she sees Tyrion's horse still tied up next to her’s. He would not have run out by himself with no horse. Still, Myrcella checks the saddle bags and sure enough, they're full of supplies. Taking a deep breath, Myrcella prepares for the possibility that Tyrion has been captured.

She's swift as she jumps on her horse in search of her uncle. It's not fair for him to take punishment, Tyrion has done so much for her she could never leave him to fend for himself.

Myrcella doesn't know where to start. There is a high amount of foot traffic trotted down in the mud below leading further into Oxcross.

The residents are in their beds asleep, making no noise, with exceptions for the crickets and a rogue dog howl and a muffled struggle up the way.

Myrcella urges her pony faster until she nearly drops from her saddle. A group of men in northern leather with an iron direwolf flowing in the wind. There are five of them and they are all circled around Tyrion.

Seeing that her uncle’s hands are bound, Myrcella leaps from her pony and runs to the group of men.

“–see I told you.” She can hear Tyrion say as she approaches closer and every man begins to pay her notice, watching her with sharp eyes. “My niece, Myrcella, _your_ lady of Winterfell.”

Tyrion gestures to her with his joined hands and Myrcella tears down her hood so they may see that Tyrion is telling the truth.

She kneels, taking Tyrion's hands and looking around expecting help. “Take off these ropes, my uncle has done nothing but helped me.” Not a single one of them move. “Where is Robb?” She asks, feeling that these men are not as friendly as she had assumed.

None of their faces were recognizable to her and they looked down at her like she was what she'd been pretending to be for the last few weeks. A whore.

“I have to ask imp, where'd you buy her? She's pretty.” One said and then another laughed. “Don't bother, you'll never be able to afford a girl lookin’ like that.”

Myrcella begins pulling the knots binding Tyrion herself as they all find entertainment watching her frantically freeing her uncle. The point of a blade begins to dig into her shoulder and Myrcella shudders hearing them talk about her like she's not there listening to their filth about what her body is like underneath her cloak.

All she can focus on is helping her uncle Tyrion, that is all she allows herself to do when she finally releases the huge, tight knot that had torn her fingers raw.

With Tyrion free and making a getaway to the horse, Myrcella clamors to her feet ready to help Tyrion up on the saddle when her hair is grabbed from behind and her back is pressed against a firm body and his sticky breath fills her ear and neck.

Myrcella closes her eyes, hands over her belly to protect her baby that has yet to exist in this terrible world.

Ready for the worst, every fiber of her body tenses until she hears the sound of laughter cease by a thunderous growl.

The hand clutching her hair and the blade at her throat fall away and Myrcella opens her eyes to see Grey Wind with his hackles raised high and his snout pulled into a menacing snarl, all of his pearly sharp teeth on display.

With newfound freedom, Myrcella quickly steps over to Grey Wind’s side looking for Robb, but he's nowhere to be seen.

The group of men drop their weapons and cower, debating on if running would push Grey Wind to attack.

“Call him off!” They yell at her. _You should have beleived my uncle_ , an evil voice echos in her mind before she finally takes pity on crying grown men.

“Grey Wind?” She pets down his back but he refuses to calm, he even prowls a step closer.

Myrcella spares an uncaring glance to the man who grabbed her. “He doesn't listen to me.”

Legs locked and trembling from fear, Myrcella sees they have no choice to run so they bend their knees slowly to the ground, submitting to the growling beast.

From behind comes loud thuds of an incoming horse and Myrcella spins just in time to be pulled right up. Quickly, she catches the stirrup with her foot so she is able to step her other leg over the horse as she's being pulled up.

“Robb,” she tries to twist around to see him, to see his face but his eyes are filled with malice and glued to shivering (supposedly loyal) bannermen. Myrcella begins to feel drops of rain right when Robb urges his reins and they're riding down some road Myrcella does not know.

“Robb,” she tries again and is immediately pacified when his arm crosses over her to hold her back closer to him. It keeps her comforted for a time as they ride into the depths of Oxcross to a small inn.

Swift and silent, Robb guides her off of their horse and ushers her inside and keeps her impossibly close to his side until they are in a private room of their own.

Only now does he really look at her. Cupping her cheek, inspecting any bruises or cuts she may have.

Myrcella forces herself to break the tense silence. “Uncle Tyrion–”

“Don't worry, he's safe,” he says lowly, eyes turning from ravenous to soft pools of blue. “Myrcella…”

Swelling up with so much joy, Myrcella cracks into a tearful smile. For so long she's felt so alone. Being around so much of the wrong sorts of people has drained her, but it's not a burden to be with Robb.

Even now, when he's looking at her as if she were cracked glass. “A month. A whole month has passed since I last saw you.”

“Am I different?”

A sad smile passes his lips before he presses them to her forehead. “No. Yes. No and yes.”

“I didn't leave you, I never wanted to,” She rushes to say. “My mother, she thought she was doing what was best but it wasn't! It was awful and–” Myrcella nearly jumps remembering.

Tugging at Robb’s wrist, she gets him to hold her stomach and watches the confusion in his eyes spark into shock.

“Myrcella you don't mean it, do you?”

She nods biting into her smile. “I think I have been for two months. I-I can't be sure of course, I'm not showing yet.” She opens her cloak so Robb can see she is roughly the same size as when she left.

“We’ll see maester Luwin, then.” He tries to say calmly and strokes down the cinche of her waist to her hip. “Thank gods you've stopped wearing those–” he tugs on the looser laces of her simple gown and she understands he means corset.

“Perhaps I won't have to wear them for a while.”

The initial shock has passed and Myrcella can see him beam, truly believing the news. He once was as cold and unforgiving as ice, now tears reflect in his eyes.

The space between them is becoming intolerable and Myrcella slices through it, waiting too long to connect her lips with his.

Some restraint breaks within him as Robb sighs and takes her thighs in a firm grip so her legs could wrap around him.

“Like the first time all over again,” he mentions while laying her down and Myrcella laughs. This is hardly the way she felt the first time.

“Wait,” her hand presses on his chest as he leans down over her to kiss her again. “Robb… but those men… they were Stark men.”

“Aye, and I'll take care of them. I promise.”

And he was true to his word. Not since that night had Myrcella seen any of their faces again.


	15. Chapter 15

When arriving back to Winterfell Maester Luwin was more needed to check Myrcella’s health and condition rather than confirm a pregnancy. In the fortnight it took to travel back a bump had emerged from her belly and Robb tried his hardest to spend an adequate amount of time with her.

_Tried_.

Still acting Lord of Winterfell, Robb always has his hands full. His mother, as grateful as she was for Myrcella’s safety and newfound condition, still left for Riverrun with Bran and Rickon in tow. She had hopes that the travel and new surroundings would help Bran from himself. He is still down about his legs and no talk from Robb would help.

With his Lady mother gone, Robb is keeping all of the books and meandering tasks she was once in charge of. Myrcella will one day take up those jobs, but not anytime soon. She's growing by the second and Robb has a list of things to finish before their child makes a bold entrance into the world.

Countless things to do and still he gets ravens from the wall. In his father’s solar, Robb sighs as he breaks the black seal. The scroll isn't from Lord Commander Mormont, but from Jon.

Robb leans in and reads with a new interest only to be left puzzled. He retreads his brother’s scrawl.

“The dead are rising….?” He says aloud just to make sure that’s what Jon meant.

What can't be mistaken is Jon asking for men to man all of the strongholds along the wall. That's asking a lot, and frankly Robb doesn't have the needed numbers.

He's supposed to be rallying the bannermen for his Lord father to send aid to Stannis Baratheon who is in the midst of battle with his brother, Renly, near the Stormlands.

A mighty storm that will turn out to be. They're brothers, why should their squabbles come so far as war? Surly no one has to die and they can bend to some agreement. Renly is an entitled fool, but he can't be so unreasonable as to demand Stannis to a battle. Stannis is seasoned and Renly… Renly is not and his cause is not worthy.

Robb doesn't know the full extent to this upcoming battle, he does not even hold the numbers each side has, but his father demands him to send down his bannermen so that is just what Robb plans to do.

Messily pulling a blank roll of parchment, Robb begins to write Jon his sure to be disappointing answer of ‘I can only spare what’s in the dungeons’ which would be two foreign men that had done some thieving in Winter Town.

Robb would go to the wall himself, it is something he's always wanted to do, but a Stark must be left in Winterfell and he cannot leave his responsibilities to his two little sisters.

Home once again, and they still bicker like they hadn't left. At least they pay mind to Myrcella and give her the company Robb cannot. He's not even sure if he's seen her the last three days, he's been so busy.

Pressing an iron direwolf seal over his scroll, he sends it off with Maester Luwin to be sent to the Wall.

In the coming days Robb is met back with an unexpected reply, that Jon will be arriving in due time to take the new recruits. Those thieves won't be so thrilled…

But Robb certainly is, Arya won't cause any trouble with the excitement of Jon coming home looming over and finally Robb can introduce his wife to his half brother, even though he may need to reintroduce himself since he seldom sees her.

Jory Cassel requests audience and Robb grants it, standing as Jory enters the solar. He has silly grin on.

“I have to inform you my lord that there is… a rodent problem. Little lady Sansa has discovered it first hand, I'm afraid.”

“A rodent problem?” As it gets colder the rats must be burrowing further in the castle. “Sansa hasn't made a deal of it, has she?”

Jory chuckles, “She was quite hysterical and refused to leave her room, which I tried to tell her was not above being infested by rats.”

Robb leans down at his seat to write another letter, this time to the Winter Town brothel. They breed cats over there like wildfire. “Tell Sansa not to say a word of this to anyone. Lady Myrcella is not keen on rats, I'm afraid she’ll have a similar reaction, and in her condition I'd rather her not.”

Jory straightens and nods, his smile disappearing. “Of course, my lord. Shall I deal with the problem myself? I can recruit some of my cousins to help set traps. It's better if those boys are doing something rather than getting into trouble.”

“I trust your cousins enough, I need you to lead the vanguard down south.” Jory’s face opens to shock making him look ten years younger. “I'd trust no one better for the job. Our father’s will be waiting for you.” Robb almost hates to give the responsibility away, but he has more important things to do in Winterfell. He has a baby coming after all.

Jory gives a stern nod. “I will not let you down.” He promises before he takes leave.

On the verge of battle and Robb is most upset about rats. Arya pleaded and begged to and go and pick up the extra hunting cats, Robb said she could on the condition she be quiet about the entire infestation.

Now with meowing hairballs skittering around his ankles everywhere he goes everything seems even more hectic. He can only hope the cats and Cassel cousins will be enough before Myrcella can spot a single tail of a rat.

_Myrcella_ , he wonders how she is and aches to see her. He hopes she is in bed to rest, alas when he finds time to visit, her chamber is barren. Nothing but a bed and furs all in a tangle.

Not seeing her seems to be taking more energy from him than trying all he can to make time to see her, and when he does have a valuable few free minutes, she vanishes! It is beginning to grate on every nerve of his sanity. He can't remember when he properly saw her last or how round her stomach had gotten. He is already failing his family while also trying to do all he can for them.

In the coming week, Jory leaves for southern warfare (if the gods are kind there will be a truce and a brotherly hug at the end of the parley) as soon as he sees Jory and the vanguard out, Robb rides out beyond the wolfswood where a scout had seen men of the Night’s Watch approaching from the north.

A portly man, Robb is shocked to see, rides beside Jon. He’s bearded like Jon but breathes heavily even on his horse. The journey has not been kind to him.

“Jon,” Robb greets, jumping from his mount to meet his brother half way on foot so they can embrace.

Not since defending the north from wildlings has Robb seen his brother, and even from then he's grown. Only a shy sliver of the boy who'd left home was left, the rest of him now being a brave defender of the realm.

Robb smiles sadly to his brother, a cold man of the watch. He'd father no children, take no wife, Robb can't imagine anything more cruel now that he has those things. He'd never let them go, he'd never lose Myrcella again. He wouldn't be strong enough to go through it once more.

“You look old,” Jon says, “a lot more like father and less like yourself.”

“I haven't been sleeping,” Robb confesses, he's on a nine month time schedule that dwindles with each passing second. “You still look like your old, sulky, self.”

Jon nods to smile at the ground, “aye, there's a bit more to sulk about up there, beyond the wall.”

“So you've been out ranging? I thought that after Uncle Benjen never returned you wouldn't.”  
  
All smiles gone now, Jon looks to Robb with all seriousness. “I mean to talk to you about my ranging, what I've seen.”

The sun sinks below the horizon, darkness taking hold along with a sea of noises from creatures, predators and prey alike. “Tell me tomorrow. I'd like a good night of sleep for once.” He says while mounting his horse, Grey Wind leading the way back to Winterfell.

“This is Sam,” Jon introduces as they ride through the night. Robb shares a nod with the burly boy. “He was of house Tarly.”

He recognizes the name, the Tarly’s fight for the Tyrell's, and in turn, for Renly Baratheon.

“All men of the watch are welcome,” Robb says and Sam gives way to a grand sigh of relief, as if Robb would refuse him. “I have had rooms prepared for three, so there’s plenty of space. I only ask that… if you happen upon a rat or two that you don't bring attention to it.”

“Oh, we’re used to rats.” Sam Tarly says right away.

“It's my wife, she’s in a fragile state and she is fearful of those little creatures.” How she's scared of a rat and not Grey Wind, Robb will never know. “It’s better to deal with it without her knowing.”

“I never said, but congratulations. I am interested in meeting her. Is she well?”

“She’s healthy, the baby is healthy.” Robb bites in his cheek, that is all he knows. “I know she has been wanting to formally meet you, will you both join us to break fast in the Great Hall? At this hour she must be sleeping, I have to warn she sleeps early and wakes late so we may be eating late.”

“That's fine, we’ll get to sleep in as well.” Jon says and Robb is grateful for his flexibility. “I plan to linger here for as long as I can anyway. I don't know when I'll be back.”

“Take all the time you need.” Robb selfishly encourages. He had never stopped missing Jon, not truly. Even though he has so much, Jon still leaves an empty space in Robb’s chest. Raised as brothers, no amount of time will ever erase that bond.

Back at the castle, Robb formally shows Jon and Sam their sleeping quarters and silently retreats to his own. Lightly stepping in, he can see Myrcella blissfully snuggled in a nest of furs. Her back is turned to him and no one would ever know she is with child like this.

Yellow candlelight flickers over the exposed skin of her shoulder, she always leaves one lit for him. Sometimes the wax melts and it’s extinguished by the time he retires, but it's the thought of her doing it that warms him.

Robb can't be bothered by doing anything except stripping down to his smallclothes and climbing into bed. Like a rock, he lays, muscles melting into the featherbed. Tonight he'd finally recover from weeks of nonstop work.

As soon as his eyes close he feels sleep closing in, just as fast as a snap of fingers, he's nearly out cold when a mischievous, small hand curls over his shoulder.

Undeterred, Robb keeps his eyes closed. Sweet sleep just a second away.

“Robb,” she moans softly, her breasts, soft and sensual against his back.

_Oh no_. “M’Cella, no,” he mumbles, hardly audible. “I can't.” Utterly pathetic, but Robb can't even find the energy to turn over, let alone be a proper lover.

“Please?”

She's so convincing while not trying at all. Her leg hikes up and over his hip and Robb doesn't think she could get any closer. “I miss you.”

“The morning,” he whispers, trying to fall asleep before she can say another word.

“Or now,” she brazenly reaches for his smallclothes and Robb involuntary jumps at her touch.

“Please,” she pleas again and tugs his shoulder so he’s laying on his back, eyes creaking open and struggling to focus.

Too quick to process, Myrcella climbs over him to straddle. Robb musses up the energy for his hands to glide up her thighs and to her round belly that now overflows his palm. He lazily grins up at her, “baby is okay?”

She leans down to kiss his lips, “they're perfect,” she rasps just as her pelvis pushes against Robb’s and the sensation is an odd one.

Head fighting against the pillow he lays on, Robb groans feeling a shock of need power through his fatigue. “Myrcella,” he whines her name unsure if he can do this.

Fingers finding just enough strength to dent in the supple flesh of her thighs, Robb tries to help her find release.

But all he is accomplishing is annoying his wife. With a quiet sigh she takes his wrists and pins them overhead. “Please, you don't have to do anything.” She reaches down with only one hand to undo the laces of Robb’s smallclothes and with no guidance she revels in pleasure in taking him.

_Don't have to do anything_ , She says, but his reaction is instinctual. She is too warm and encompassing and _slow_. Robb can process how lazy her pace is but he can also feel how there is no end in sight.

“Myrcella,” he says as if he were dying, but even still she ignores him and continues her torture.

Lips meeting with his once again, Robb lets her deepen the kiss. He's missed this too and would do anything to be his normal, awake, self. It might as well be a dream, a never ending torturous dream.

“ _Yes_ , you have no idea how good this feels,” Myrcella moans while sitting back up, Robb nearly in tears as she graciously quickens her pace. “My back has been hurting all day,” she pants and Robb can't help but raise a brow.

“Your back?”

“I could not get comfortable, I could stand, sit, lay, and nothing would quell this pain, nothing but this.” She bites her lip, eyes closing to concentrate on her newly released pain.

Robb tries to last as long as possible for her, as weak and tired as he is. Finally when he can take no more, he begs.

The little slow movements weren't enough, he needed more-- but she still needs to feel good and she hates laying on her back. “My sweet lady--” he begins a bit too gingerly for her to notice at first, “Myrcella, faster my love.”

A line forms between her brows as she whimpers and nods, still keeping her eyes closed to concentrate.

It was the laziest orgasm he'd ever had, yet still full with intensity. Myrcella must've met her end as well, she pants and leans back down to the featherbed laying on her side.

Such a strange satisfaction rolls over them and now Robb can't find himself drifting to sleep, instead he drifts his hand over her protruding belly. He'd never seen her body like this while also being bare.

_And a kick._

Like out of this world, his baby jabs against Myrcella’s belly and Robb thinks he's dreaming.

“Your babies are awake,” she mumbles half asleep.

“Do they always wake in the dead of night-- Myrcella?”

“Hm?”

“D-did you say babies?”

She nods, one eye opening with a smirk forming on her mouth watching Robb palm her belly shocked and bewildered.

“Two are in there? How?”

“Maester Luwin says I'm growing too fast for just one, and I can feel two little bodies pushing me apart.”

Taking her cheek, Robb kisses her. “Whenever you need help with your back pain, find me.” She giggles and mutters something. “And I promise to be with you more. Jon is here, he can help with Winterfell and I can finally help you, and our babies.”

Robb cradles her belly and feels plenty more little jabs and kicks. His family is growing faster than expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not all sex is "perfect ideal wow! amazing! fantastical!" sex and I wanted to dabble with that idea a little, bear in mind I know next to nothing about pregnant sex lol. I think it can bring on labor though? Maybe? I'm not entirely sure.


	16. Chapter 16

There were very few joys greater than waking up with a loved one, even if that loved one has a particularly grabby hand.

Myrcella rustles awake with a surprise, she can feel Robb at her back still in a deep sleep with his arm draped over her and hand cupping her breast.

“Robb..” she loathes to wake him but she must get up. The pressure in her belly and her back is beginning to hurt. “Robb.” She says a little less gentle, pushing back her pillow so it hits him in the face.

Finally he jumps awake.

“Are you okay?” He asks while helping Myrcella sit up.

“Yes, yes– I think we slept in. I think we slept in a lot.” Myrcella worries as she looks out the window seeing how high the sun is.

“Someone would've gotten me if it were that bad,” he says without a care and leisurely rises to dress. It's not fair. He is still so lean and Myrcella finds herself staring at his back, watching planes of muscle shift before he covers himself in a tunic.

“I don't want to keep anyone from eating,” Myrcella can reach her robe from the bed and stretches to pull it on over head. Her babies are rolling around in her belly, clamoring for water. “Can you?”

Once Robb sees he motion for the pitcher he hurries to fill a cup and hands it to her to be drained again just as fast. “I want them out.” Myrcella flings her head back, aghast and out of breath. “Maester Luwin says they're each the size of a cantaloupe. A cantaloupe Robb! Two! I need them out.”

“You can't have them out, we still have nearly five weeks left.”

“You mean _me_! I'm carrying them.” Myrcella was once scared about delivering, but now it's all she prays for. She's tired of waddling, of crying at the simplest of things, and struggling to breath. One baby kicks her ribs and another pushes against the wall of her belly. It all hurts after a while.

Robb looks sympathetic as he leans down to kiss her forehead. “And you're strong for carry at all let alone two, but they can't come out early. I'm not ready-- they're not ready. They need to grow in there still.”

“But I can't grow! Not an inch more!” The pressure of them is already snapping her in half. “I'd rather hold them in my arms than carry them in my stomach. They hurt and they're always moving.”

“I… I can talk to maester Luwin to see if there is anything that can help?”

“I speak to maester Luwin more than I speak to you, you needn't ask anything for me.m.”

She didn't mean to snap. The hurt in Robb’s eyes bleeds through clear eyes and Myrcella feels remorse immediately. “I'm sorry, there's just nothing we can do about it. I must learn to endure.”

“Apology not needed, I deserve that. I haven't been looking out for you the way I should be, especially with two now… how long have you known we have two babies?” Gilt wrought on his face, Myrcella feels she could cry at the look of him.

“Not very long, a few days. Robb, I know you're not staying away on purpose.” He needs to know she doesn't resent him. frustrated at times, yes, but he can't abandon Winterfell, she wouldn't ask that of him anyway.

He stands quiet, too shy to speak. It reminds Myrcella of when she and Robb fought and she doesn't like it. “Jon is here? Truly?” She asks to get something out of him.

“Yes, do you need more water?”

“Do I scare you? Why are you being so… timid?”

“Timid?” He laughs, stepping closer. Two fingers lift her chin so she can look up to him. “Close your eyes for me, my lady?”

Wanting to be difficult, “why?” Myrcella questions and is satisfied when a twinge of playful annoyance flickers over his face.

He leans down, lips a breath away. “Please?”

“Not until you tell me why.”

“Trust me–” he nudges her and the slight push is enough to set her off balance so she rolls back on her back.

“I hate you.” She sighs. “It's not easy for me to get up.”

“Then you should stay laying down.” Robb says clumsily leaning over her, it's not as nice as she'd like it to be with a belly in the way,

“Robb, off please.”

“Uh,” his fingers clasp over her eyes, blocking all vision. ”why?”

_Why_. “Robb, my back hurts. I need to get up-- and I need to see.” She yanks at his wrists to no avail.

“I can carry you to the Great Hall.”

“Don't. I'm heavy.”

“Nonsense.” Robb says and faster than Myrcella can process he scoops her up. “You should be fine in your robe, pregnant ladies can wear what they want.”

“Robb, I am not pleased.”

“You will be when you eat.”

He’s not wrong. One of Myrcella’s newer favorites is being served, steaming porridge topped with sweet fruits. Myrcella is sure it was no easy task to import such a delicate thing so far north, but Robb managed. That’s all he’s doing really, managing…

His half brother is here and Robb can’t stop scrambling for a moment to sit and have a proper conversation.

“I hope the road was kind to you.”

Jon smiles and his fellow black brother of the night’s watch swallows thickly, like he does any time Myrcella utters a word. She decides to ignore it.

“Much kinder than if we were marching north of the wall instead of south.”

Jon is sensible. Much more so than half the folk in the realm. “Have you been ranging? Is it much different on that side of the world?”

Sam makes eye contact with his porridge and Jon clears his throat, eyes scanning the hall as if to find Robb or Sansa or anyone else. “Quite.” He mumbles.

“I’m sure Robb will join shortly. He is pleased that you’re here, I promise.” Myrcella’s greatest fear is coming off rude to new people. The princess in her just won’t leave. “I for one am pleased you’re here, truly. I’ve wanted to meet you for so long.”

“Likewise. Though I’ve gotten few letters, I will never forget the one Robb sent telling of his wedding. It was a shock, but we weren’t boys anymore I suppose.”

Myrcella hangs her head and simpers at the thought of her marriage while her hands roam the globe that is her stomach. Now there is no mistaking her girlhood has passed.

Her life isn’t her’s anymore, it will belong to the children inside of her. The aching cramps will be worth it…

Jon clears his throat once again, it’s starting to make Myrcella uncomfortable. “So, how long is it before-“ he nods to her stomach.

“Oh,” Myrcella beams, never getting tired of sharing, “Maester Luwin says in a month's time. Very soon you can be an uncle to two.”

A polite smile spreads on Jon’s face as his eyes stay somber on Myrcella. “It’s an honor.” He says very quietly.

Myrcella feels rotten. Pregnancy brain has gotten to her, she’s forgotten that men of the night’s watch renounce their families and titles.

She shares a look with Jon and it is one of understanding, that this can be their little secret.

Now Myrcella clears her throat. “Perhaps I should find Robb myself. He’s probably frantic in his solar over something that doesn’t matter.”

Using the arms of her chair Myrcella wills herself up with the aid of Jon’s hand on her back and when she bends forward to stand a shadow skitters and pads over Myrcella’s feet.

A _rat_. A giant, squeaking, shaggy, old rat and Myrcella is too achy to scream and run. Instead she panics and reaches for anything before taking purchase on Jon’s sleeve. There’s a lunge in her belly, like a baby had melted and disappeared in her stomach.

“What is that?” Samwell stutters and Myrcella looks at her feet, she’s standing in a puddle.

“I don’t know.” She tries to say nonchalantly, but fails. She’s sure she’s even crying a little.

“Is that normal?” Jon has a good grip on her, keeping her supported and standing.

“Ah, Perhaps. I don’t honestly know, I’ve never been pregnant before.” She doesn’t feel pain, other than the usual cramping. “I- would someone mind getting Robb?”

“What about a Maester?”

“He’ll get one.”

Jon nods back to his friend. “Well, go on then. Hurry and get him!”

Sam blanches. “Y-you know this place better than me.”

“Then you watcher her,” Jon begins to usher Myrcella toward a shrinking Sam.

“I’ll get him, I’ll get him.” He shrieks and disappears down the south hall.

“Do you need to sit.”

“I don’t think I’ll move, if that’s alright with you.” She’s afraid to take a single step, her belly feels tight so she cradles it to ease the weight off of her back. “They must be growing… I told Robb you know, that I couldn’t possibly get any bigger, but they need me to…”

“I think, uh. I think you’re doing well. You look proper pregnant to me.”

Myrcella nods even though Jon has no idea what he’s trying to say. They’re just both standing shocked and slightly afraid.

“Oh.” She grips his arm tight.

“What was that?”

“Maybe I should sit.” Jon gently helps her down into her chair. She wiggles to get comfy, but still she cramps up. This she knows is not normal. Her hand clutches her belly, she’s not feeling any kicks. That’s all her babies do and now they’re sitting still.

True panic becomes her. Myrcella yanks on Jon’s collar and demands, “Where is Robb and Samwell.”

Jon grimly shrugs just as the doors give way and Robb is not pale like Snow, he’s red. From ears to nose he’s flushed and fixated on her as he efficiently strides to her side with Maester Luwin failing to keep pace.

He says some things to her, but it’s all too fast and Myrcella couldn’t really care. She takes his hands and plants them on her belly. “What do you feel?” She trembles and waits the longest seconds of her life.

“Nothing,” he says and drops to kneel before her. “Not a single little jab or kick…” he looks just as lost as she does.

Maester Luwin is quick to take control. “The water is broken,” he says instantly, “you’re going to have the babes today.”

Robb stands to confront Luwin. “No, she isn’t. You said yourself she still has a month to deliver.”

“Aye, I said, but there’s nothing we can do once the water has broken, and I can tell she is already having contractions by the way she tenses every few moments.”

“Contractions?” Myrcella thought its was normal aches and pains.

“They’re happening pretty regularly aren’t they?”

“Where’s Sam?” Jon suddenly asks and Robb looks to him as if he’d forgotten he was there at all.

“Throwing up somewhere I’m sure. He looked ill, couldn’t even tell me what exactly was happening to Myrcella.”

Myrcella raises her voice, “should I lay down?” All eyes on her, there is a pause before Maester Luwin nods to Robb. “To the birthing bed, my lord. Good thing I had mind to prepare it early.”

“Aye, _good thing_.” Robb remarks while tepidly gaining Myrcella in his arms. She still feels about as heavy as a castle wall, but he manages to lift her.

The walk through the corridors is rushed and Myrcella closes her eyes from it all and sets her head against Robb’s chest. His heart is practically pounding against her face. Hand blindingly reaching for his cheek she can feel his steps hesitate a moment.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m not worried about me.” She still cannot feel them. The pain of her contractions is dwarfed by the plaguing fact that her children are dead inside of her. “I can’t, Robb. I can’t live through dead babies.”

“You’ll live through anything.” He says fiercely though Myrcella still has her eyes closed. “They’ll be small is all… not yet full term, but they’ll breath just as easily out here as they do in you.”

That is a nice dream. One Myrcella never became comfortable in believing. Her family’s history of difficult births is always at the forefront of her mind, she wishes to have Robb’s ignorance.

She hears the creak of a door and is soon placed on a wide featherbed. Myrcella hadn’t noticed the following they had accumulated from their short journey from the Great Hall. Sansa, Arya, household servants, even the stable boy and his curious friends.

Myrcella is far from a hysterical sobbing mess, but still… privacy would be a comfort. Robb catches her feeling and ushers them out and away while Luwin instructs how she should be positioned and pushing.

_Pain_ , shouldn’t she be in more pain? She aches, but her mind is fretting over other things, like how she doesn’t have a hand to hold while her legs are being yanked apart like she is nothing but butchered meat.

“Robb.” She fights to grab his attention while he’s still shooing bystanders out. “Robb!” Now the hysterics begin. If she’s dying she doesn’t want to be alone.

“I’m here,” he rushes to her side after finally slamming the door on his family and friends. Myrcella laces her fingers with his and holds him in a deathgrip and smothers him it’s a tirade of ‘I love you’s’ and apologies. Til her last seconds she will pray that the babies make it so Robb is not left with nothing.

Maester Luwin’s raspy voice breaks through, ordering to push and with all her might she does. Again and again until she’s numb and fading.

It’s euphoric, feeling the sensation of going under. The room blackens and Myrcella hears a shrill infant cry before that, the room, and Robb fade to nothing.

 

Morning light ushers in a new day. Myrcella wakes up in her own bed with the familiar warmth of Robb beside her. She’s changed in new robes and the swell in her belly gone.

“Myrcella?”

“Robb.”

His smile breaks way to crystal tears shining in his eyes. “They told me to let you rest, it was hard not waking you.”

Myrcella’s throat is sore as she feels where her babies had been. “W-where are they?”

Robb rustles eagerly, “they’re great– I mean, they’re small. So small I can hold each in a single hand, but by all accounts they’re crying and healthy and beautiful and girls.”

“Girls?” Both wonderful little girls. “Does that please you?”

“I dare you to find a man happier.” Myrcella laughs, half giddy half delirious.

“I need them.” She sits up, not realizing how sore she is. Robb is there to support her back.

“Maester Luwin won’t even let me see them. Don’t be worried, but he has to monitor their breathing. Their lungs are underdeveloped, but he encourages us not to fret.”

“Robb, I’m going to see their little red screaming faces.” Myrcella begins her stubborn journey to standing and Robb is smart enough not to fight her and aids her walking like she’s as frail as Old Nan.

When he sees her Maester Luwin scolds her for being up but she’s too mesmerized to care. Two little fur bundles on their own little cots by the fire, red as can be and crying for her. She’s drawn to them and kneels beside her little girls.

“My strong girls,” Myrcella cries, not believing that those are the babes that have been kicking her for all these months. “Our strong little wolves…” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be the last for this story that was meant to be a one shot. I’m excited to start a new story with Robb and Myrcella, I’m not entirely sure what it is yet, but I am itching to do something new. 
> 
> This was my first ever fan fiction that I made and I’m glad to say I do not regret it! Everyone who has read and commented made this such a good experience and I’m just happy to be in a positive section of the fandom! 
> 
> Btw I know very little about child birth, sorry for any severe inaccuracies lol


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Its... angst... and an open ended ending

A cloaked babe in each crook of her arm, Myrcella held them close to her heart. They were mere pink little things bundled in soft thick sable and furs, Myrcella took care to keep them harbored away from the wind and snow. 

“My ladies.” Robb’s voice withered through the noise of the crowd gathered in the courtyard to see the men off. “Beautiful and kind, ladies Lyanna and Joanna.” Robb leaned down to kiss each of their resting foreheads and Myrcella burned the image into her mind. “And you.” He said, eyes lifting up, he had a smile on his face but his eyes matched Myrcella’s everything. 

She could not put on a mask of polite indifference let alone happiness. Myrcella looked forlorn toward Robb and she knew he did not want to go either. 

But he could put on a brave face. 

“I know you’ll be strong.” His hand came under her chin to raise it, “And brave.”

Lyanna began a soft cry and Myrcella did her best to rock her babe to contentment. “I know you will be too,” He always was. 

“It won’t be forever.” He’d said that a thousand times the night before, none of it felt true to Myrcella. 

“Why does Jon look so afraid.” Myrcella said evenly seeing the cloaked brother of the Watch from the corner of her eye. He was atop his horse with his small party of men. He looked like a leader, a capable one, which made Myrcella more weary of his fear.  _ It was not just wildlings up north _ , he had told Robb. Myrcella did not like the way he said those words… 

“He is dower, not afraid,” Robb said too lightly, he meant for it as a jape. It only turned Myrcella’s stomach. 

“Will you not smile for me?” He pleaded, his thumb graced over the top of her cheek.

Tears threatened. Myrcella’s brow tensed and she looked down to hide the weakness. Her babes leaned into her cloak, their little eyes growing heavy, each blink slower than the last. 

“I would never leave my girls for good,” came Robb’s voice and it wasn’t fair. He did not get to cheer her up, not when he was going and she fought his decision at every turn. 

“I’ve never asked you to stay before,” she did not sound like herself, voice low and glum, she’d never want to look this way in the courtyard for all to see. 

Robb fell quiet like he wasn’t a lord in view of his people waving a heroic farewell, he wilted into a boy lost. “Our choices aren’t always our own.” He said so sweet it was sick. 

Myrcella should be proud to have such a husband, he was no coward and held to his belief no matter the cost, but in truth the cost was too high now as she cuddled Lyanna and Joanna closer.

Not only did her heart ached, Myrcella shifted on her feet feeling the soreness between her legs. 

She let him have her last night, she wanted him but acted as if she didn’t. That she was still so sore from childbirth that she didn’t want him near, but she did. Even if it stung and throbbed, she wanted him with her… 

She prayed the sour love they made wouldn’t make him go. That he wouldn’t want that to be the last time. 

Now she feels like a brat who’s spoiled any proper goodbye. Even here in the courtyard she’s cold to him. 

“I- I need you to-“ Myrcella looked up at his pause, his good natured smile gone, she could’ve wept at the look on his face. 

But she stiffened her upper lip and held up her chin, “we’ll be waiting here, Robb.” Myrcella hugged in Lyanna and Joanna, “I love you,” she said with measure, cautious not to have her voice crack.

“I love you,” he echoed and picked his smile back up, “it won’t be long,” he said with heart before he kissed her and roused a cheer from the crowd.

Myrcella watched him ride away, already awaiting his return. 


End file.
